


Every atom of me and every atom of you

by prettybirdy979



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Daemon Touching, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Daemon Feels, Daemon Separation, Daemon Settling, Daemon Touching, Daemons, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Harm to Daemons, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kidnapping, M/M, Non Consensual Daemon Touching, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979
Summary: The relationship between humanity and their daemons has always been a curioustiy of Crowley's, ever since he was present at both the first Settling and the creation of the first Witch. Six thousand years of having to fake one - with Aziraphale's help at times - has given him a constant awareness of them that he can't quite shake. Even if he cannot quite grasp what it would be to truly have one, to never be alone.Not that he would want a daemon (he does, hedoes, oh how hedoes) but with the end times coming, well. Things are changing rapidly and who can see what the fall out is going to be?(Or Good Omens, but with daemons. And pining, because it's not Good Omens without pining)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 113
Collections: Fandom For Australia





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elvendork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/gifts).



> It's here! The fic I promised you Elvendork for the Fandom for Australia auction in January... it's here! And a lot longer than expected oops. Three chapters for now but that's only because I don't want to commit to four chapters until the split happens. 
> 
> I'll be posting weekly until it's complete, with most of it already written so shouldn't have delays. A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO LTRisBACK FOR BETAING! 
> 
> Title is from this quote:  
>  _"I'll be looking for you, Will, every moment, every single moment. And when we do find each other again we'll cling together so tight that nothing and no one'll ever tear us apart. **Every atom of me and every atom of you...** We'll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pine trees and in clouds and in those little specks of lights you see floating in sunbeams... And when they use our atoms to make new lives, they won't just be able to take_ one _, they'll have to take two, one of you and one of me, we'll be joined so tight..."_

They say that Eve was the first witch. That all witches are descended from her and her snake daemon, who settled in the knowledge of their crime. That Adam was tempted in turn by Eve and her snake, though his soul was magnificent enough to be the first lion of God.

Crowley knows this is bullshit.

Okay yes, all witches descend from Eve but that’s because all people are Eve’s descendents in one way or another; made in her image if not perhaps the children of Eve’s children. Saying Eve is the mother of all witches, is like saying God is the Mother of all angels  _ and _ demons. Technically correct but missing some of the finer detail that paints the correct picture.

Plus they get the daemons all wrong. Crowley - okay Crawley then - watched knowledge creep across Eve’s face, watched her daemon come close to her and settle as a monkey with bright, curious eyes; never to leave her side again. And how dare humanity turn Adam’s brave little ewe into the lion they’d slain together, like a sheep couldn’t be as brave as a lion when she had something valuable to protect.

But yeah, the witch thing really gets him. Humanity at it again, deciding that the people who have reversed one of the curses of the Apple must be in some way  _ bad _ . Even - and somehow  _ especially _ \- when it is not the fault of the human that they have become a witch.

Because after all, witches are not born. They are  _ made _ .

Crowley’s seen it a thousand times. He’s been witness to the creation of a great many witches, the acts of intentional cruelty needed to make a human a witch something he often stumbles across. Something about daemons brings out the worst in people, like seeing this soul outside the body is a glaring red light asking for another human to hurt it.

He knows Aziraphale has seen more of the personal sacrifice that can also make a witch. Not that that is much more logical - maiming oneself for the promise of power or for the protection of another just seems ridiculous to Crowley. He might not have a daemon but the idea of breaking a bond between yourself and well, yourself, just seems so utterly  _ stupid _ . 

So utterly  _ human _ .

Neither he or Aziraphale much like talking about the accidents that create witches. Those are just cruel acts of a heartless God.

And they never,  _ ever _ talk about the first witch they saw made.

That was somehow the only time Crowley’s ever seen a witch made out of both cruelty and sacrifice.

Well. Until now. But now, now is a long way from then and Crowley doesn’t quite believe what he’s lived through to end up here screaming in agony as a new witch is made by the cruelty of Heaven and the sacrifice of well, the sacrifice one can only learn from humanity.

Six thousand years… and Crowley wouldn’t change a moment.

_ Aziraphale, do you remember? _

*

It’s barely a hundred years after the humans leave Eden that Crawley stumbles upon Aziraphale, once again watching a group of humans. There’s a few more this time, all armed with spears and burning torches, pushing along a woman with tied wrists. The sack containing her daemon screeches in fear and pain as they are dragged along the ground, their calls echoing with those of their humans.

‘What are they doing?’ Crawley asks, unsurprised when Aziraphale doesn’t flinch. He just glances in her direction before looking back at the humans.

‘They say,’ he says in a tired tone, ‘that she has made a deal with the devil.’

Crawley flinches at the note of accusation in Aziraphale’s voice. ‘I just got here,’ she grumbles, ‘and none of my lot have figured out there’s more than one group of humans yet.’

That gets a shadow of a smile from Aziraphale. ‘Yes. Well. She’s been accused of unnatural acts and…’ he looks down and sighs. ‘And they say she’s the reason young John died. And Mary. And Seth.’

That gets Crawley to hiss. ‘Like she has any control over illness.’

‘Quite.’

‘Surprised you’re not helping angel. Isn’t that what your lot does?’

Aziraphale sighs. ‘I would but she’s not been sentenced to death. Or injury.’

Crawley blinks. ‘Then… why are you  _ here? _ ’

He points to a dead patch of land just beyond the humans. It feels eerie to Crawley, but then all dead lands  _ do _ , even in this particular desert. The one Aziraphale is pointing out does feel different, has a creepiness that reminds Crawley of something he cannot place, but well. This is a whole new world, of course some times are going to be unfamiliar in a familiar way.

‘They’re taking her there and well… the punishments were death or this banishment. The elders chose this and,’ he frowns and takes a silent step forward, ‘and they implied this was the worst sentence.’ He shifts in place and looks her in the eye. 'Besides I… I feel like I need to be here.'

Frowning herself, Crawley tries not to fidget. She hadn't actually wanted to come here but her feet had taken her in this direction and now Aziraphale voices it, there is something screaming at her to be here.

She sighs. If she has to be here, might as well  _ be _ here. With a snap of her fingers they blink out of existence, appearing unnoticed amongst the crowd.

‘Crawley!’ Aziraphale hisses, clutching at her robes.

‘If you want a good view angel,’ she says, pushing unseen through the crowd and pulling Aziraphale along, ‘you need to be among the people.’

Aziraphale hisses some more but lets her pull him along until they are at the front of the crowd. The eyes of humans and daemons alike slide off them without actually seeing them, but the daemons still miraculously keep their distance. Crawley has no interest in touching any human soul, thank you.

The human holding the accused woman finishes whatever speech he had been making and pushes her into the dead land, her hands still bound. She lands a spear length in, easily seen as the humans spread around the edge of the dead land, pointing their spears at her. She won’t be getting back this way.

A proper banishment then. Crawley frowns, shifting her shoulders as her wings ache in sympathy. Not death but also not a good thing to have happened to anyone. But hang on, isn’t that human missing something?

The man holding the sack with her daemon finally opens it. A bright little bird daemon throws themself out of the bag and into the air, headed for their human.

Only to stop, as suddenly as if they had hit a wall.

‘What?’ Aziraphale says and takes a half step forward. Crowley grabs at him and drags him back, a step away from the dead land.

The cursed land, she realises, watching the little bird try again. It has to be cursed, nothing else could keep a daemon out so thoroughly. A bad one too - not even Hell is so accursed. 

Of course by the time humans reach there their daemons are Dust, powdering the realm of wherever their human ends up, but that's neither here nor there.

The bird daemon does everything they can to try to get to their human but they cannot pass into the land where nothing grows and their human cannot get any closer than a spear’s length from the edge of it. When she tries to go further around the crowd spreads, in what Crawley begins to realise is a deliberate fashion, so she cannot return.

If she wants to live this human will have to walk away from her daemon.

‘No!’ the little bird cries, flying furiously at the invisible wall. ‘No, Lilith, no!’

But Lilith squares her shoulders and meets the eyes of the man who had dragged her here. ‘I want a knife,’ she says in a firm voice. ‘So that I may unbind my hands on the other side.’

‘You’ll die before you reach it,’ he says in a flat tone.

‘Then let me die with a knife in my hands.’

They stare at another for a long moment before he nods at a man behind him. A knife is thrown, landing in the ground several feet past Lilith.

Further from her daemon than Crawley’s ever seen a human go. 

‘No,’ she whispers as Lilith raises her head and looks at her weeping daemon.

‘I’ll see you on the other side Yambe,’ Lilith tells her daemon and then turns her back.

Ignoring Yambe’s cries, Lilith walks. After a long moment, Yambe  _ screams _ and Lilith tenses but keeps going. Keeps walking.

The humans around step back, spears falling down as they watch Lilith go. She does not turn, does not look back, even as Yambe’s cries grow louder and more piercing. Each step is slow and careful, her only stop to pick up the knife with fumbling hands.

Her Yambe screeches the entire time.

Crawley can tell the moment she is free of the dead land because it is the moment the bird daemon drops, like they have been stoned. They sit in the dirt, making sad noises that dig into Crawley’s heart in a way the screeches hadn’t managed to.

The feeling of need, the anxiousness screaming at Crowley to be  _ here _ settles. Ah, so this is what she needed to see. This is why she is here.

Then one of the humans raises their spear, pointing it at Yambe, still making pitiful noises on the ground.

Crawley is moving before she even thinks, falling to the ground behind the bird and picking them up with gentle hands. She cups them to her breast and stares up at their would be murderer with her serpent eyes. Yambe whimpers softly but makes no other noise of protest.

Around them the humans recoil and oh yeah, hidden from human eyes only works if you stay out of the focus of everyone’s attention. 

The leader points his spear at her with hard eyes. ‘Are you with  _ her _ .’

‘Hardly,’ Crawley snaps, cupping the little daemon to her chest. ‘You’ve done your punishment; your business with this one is done.’

‘My business-’

‘Is done,’  _ Aziraphale _ says in a hard tone and Crawley glances to her right to see the angel standing there, with the faint glow that no human can see and mistake for anything else. His head is raised and his eyes unfocused as he looks into the distance. His wings aren’t visible to the humans, but the way his shoulders flare back gives the illusion of what Crawley can see barely a plane away from this one.

‘I-’ the human starts to say.

‘You,’ Aziraphale interrupts, still staring off into the distance, ‘have no idea what forces you have unleashed on this world.’ He blinks and the glow disappears with that far off look. Now he is nothing more than a mortal looking being - but the humans are still backing up. Crawley notes the smarter looking ones have already slunk to the back of the crowd, one step away from running away.

‘Angel?’ Crawley asks, standing. The spear in her face goes to move closer but a glare from Aziraphale has the man fleeing into the safety of the crowd.

‘Come,’ he says, ‘we have to meet her on the other side.’

Crawley blinks, then lifts her head too and -  _ oh _ .

Oh yes. Not done yet. There is more to this.

Yes, they have to go. They have to meet Lilith on the other side. Hell - and Heaven if Aziraphale is any indicator - must be there to acknowledge her existence as they have acknowledged all significant firsts of this world so far.

She is the first witch.

*

'Thought you would be out searching,' Crawley says as he approaches the angel. It's not exactly a polite greeting but well. 'There's so many of your lot here; must've lost something important.'

Azirapahle just sighs as he gives Crawley a glance of acknowledgement. 'They do rather stand out.' He runs his fingers along the back of the dove on his shoulder.

Crawley gives it a Look and yes, he can see the compulsion on her. The same 'don't look at me, I'm just a daemon the necklace around his neck has.

'Couple of humans weren't impressed. Saw them fussing over your lot back there.’ Crawley raises an eyebrow at Aziraphale who is every pointed in his looking away. ‘Going on about witches?’

Aziraphale groans, the emotion in it causing something to stir in Crawley’s stomach. Did eating last week give him indigestion? Is this what humans mean when they talk about it?

‘Not  _ again _ ,’ Aziraphale says, drawing Crawley out of his thoughts. ‘I’ve told them before!’

Ah, not indigestion.  _ Sympathy _ which is about as bad as indigestion for a demon. ‘Daemons?’

‘Daemons,’ Aziraphale agrees, running another finger along his dove. She gives him an unimpressed stare then shits on his shoulder.

Crawley crackles. ‘With that kind of thing, I’m not surprised your angels aren’t bothering.’

Aziraphale vanishes the droppings with a wave of his hand and glares at Crawley. ‘Oh like your lot are much better?’

It’s Crawley’s turn to groan. ‘They  _ are _ though and that’s a  _ problem _ . Can’t be all creepy and spooky when you look like the rest of the mortals! I’ve told them a thousand times to be fully human, to hide themselves when they come up but  _ nooooo _ , they  _ refuse _ and then they get all mad at me like I’ve not dumped a thousand tablets about it down there.’

‘And then they see the screaming humans around angels and moan about it like I’ve not  _ told _ them they look like ‘mere humans’ with their selves being dragged around.’

He is huffing at the end of his rant, looking over at Aziraphale who-

Who is nodding along. ‘A dozen memos I’ve sent up,’ he says, coxing the little bird into his hands, ‘all of them about how humans don’t like the humans who go around without daemons, how they’re called witches. I did a full presentation on Lilith! But…’ he trails off and bites his lip.

‘But they don’t bother,’ Crawley finishes when it’s clear Aziraphale isn’t going to finish. ‘Instead they come down and don’t even act like they’ve  _ suffered _ , let alone suffered the kind of cruelty that makes a witch.’

That gets a side eye from Aziraphale. ‘Or performed the act of sacrifice needed.’ He blinks then adds, ‘Not that the archangels  _ wouldn’t _ sacrifice, just, ah.’

‘They don’t act like it,’ Crawley continues. Aziraphale nods, stops as if he’s just realised what he did and looks away again.

‘I’m sure they’re just a little busy and will read them later,’ he says eventually, breaking the silence. ‘Especially after this.’

‘Yes, what are the oh so noble archangels doing in the good city of Sodom?’

‘Ah well, they’re going to look. For someone.’

Crawley lets the silence sit after Aziraphale’s non-answer. It’s awkward but he’s sure Azirapahle will be the one to brea-

‘Ten someones actually,’ Azirpahale says in a rush, just as Crawley thought he would. ‘Ten righteous men. They’ve headed to Lot’s home as a base while I’m ah, supposed to wait here. Be a lookout.’

‘If you’re being a lookout, you should’ve been over there,’ Crawley points. ‘Much better view of the roads in and out.’ He doesn’t say or even look at the small shop behind them that is selling baked goods. Nor does he look at the crumbs on Aziraphale’s front which his dove is even now pecking at.

Aziraphale shifts in place. ‘I’m sure they won’t need me. It’s not like there’s a mob after them, after all.’

Crawley just hums in agreement. ‘Well, as interesting as this conversation has been I’m going to leave. No point sticking around here if your lot are going to tear it apart looking for something I’m sure is right under their noses.’

That gets an offended noise from Aziraphale but Crawley’s already halfway gone by that point.

Later, when he hears about the mob that nearly tore apart the archangels for being witches - among their many other sins - Crawley’s not sure if he should laugh or cry.  _ Humans _ .

They didn’t deserve their fate but then, Heaven still hasn’t heard of the concept of ‘fair and proportionate’ punishment. No mercy in their Justice, for sure.

*

Crowley groans, breathing deeply even as a part of his mind screams that he doesn’t need to breathe. He’s been here too long, he should have this under control and be able to breathe now, he  _ doesn’t need this _ .

_ ‘ _ Come on,’ he snaps at himself, pushing himself into a sitting position so he can see the ash cloud still floating out of Mount Vesuvius. Dawn’s light attempts to reflect through it, giving the world a nightmare feel. Hell on Earth feels appropriate, even if there’s a hell of a lot more ability to breathe in Hell right now than in Pompeii. 

He should… he should go back. Aziraphale is there, he  _ knows _ . They’d been arguing in Pompeii - fighting over Crowley’s recent temptation of Restitutus of that lovely Vettii family Aziraphale was working with - when the volcano had first exploded.

Aziraphale had gone white as the ash had first started to fall, forgetting himself enough to let the butterfly daemon on his chest turn back into a broach. ‘Oh  _ no _ ,’ he’d whispered and turned to look at Crowley with wide eyes. 

Crowley had been annoyed - and still is honestly - that Aziraphale could make him do anything with just a look, no matter what his face looked like. 

Thank someone the angel doesn’t realise or Crowley really would be toast. 

Or just probably toasted. By Hell. To start with.

‘I’ll get the people out of Herculaneum,’ Crowley had said and transported himself there.

He’s not seen Aziraphale since.

He should go back. Return to Pompeii, now that Herculaneum is beyond helping. He has to help those that can be helped. After all people that are dead are beyond tempting, beyond Crowley’s reach. All those children that could grow up into awful humans can’t do that if they don’t grow up and -

Mount Vesuvius  _ explodes _ again, the same surge of death and destruction headed for Pompeii as steadily as it had gone for Herculaneum.

‘No!’ Crowley cries in the second after the explosion. Then… then there is a  _ sense _ , a feeling of warmth and light and something… something headed  _ right for him _ .

Crowley steps aside as the light solidifies into a person right where he’d been standing a moment ago. There is the sense of Grace, of an infinite Kindness, of a touch of anger at Her Cruelty and and SO MANY EYES.

Aziraphale collapses just as he gets his feet under himself, the light fading from the surrounding hills and his wings sinking back into their usual dimension, along with everything else of his inhumanity. Crowley’s there in a second, catching Aziraphale just before he hits the dirt and he looks up at Crowley with something that, on someone else’s face, might be gratitude.

‘Angel? You alright?’ Crowley says as he lowers Aziraphale into a sitting position and takes a seat beside him. There’s not a lot of ash here - yet - due to the wind but Crowley is sure that’s soon to change. No way would God let any part of this area go uncovered if She’s this mad at everyone.

‘Just fine,’ Aziraphale snaps, running shaking hands through ash covered blonde hair, the longer than usual curls spreading ash over his palla. ‘Thousands of people are _ dead _ or dying and I’ve ended up sitting beside a  _ demon _ when I was aiming for someone ethereal.’

There’s more bite in his voice when he speaks of the dead than when he calls him a demon, so Crowley lets it slide. 

‘Same difference,’ he says and grins in the face of Aziraphale’s dirty look.

They are bickering, Crowley knows, as it’s the easiest way to ignore the ever increasing Dust in the air. It was subtle at first but now it is starting to become choking, in a metaphysical way that Crowley can’t quite get his physical lungs to ignore. The sky is glittering, gold visible to the human eye - or Crowley’s snake ones, which equates to about the same thing in this kind of lighting. If he can see it he’s very sure the humans can. They’ll stop being able to see it when the ash thickens but for now...

Beside him, Aziraphale starts to melt into the shape Crowley is more familiar with and bites at his lips with a pained expression. He takes a deep breath then starts coughing, hand on his heart.

‘Aziraphale?’ Crowley pats him on the back awkwardly like humans do, looking round to make sure that their hill is still as deserted as it was moments ago. Yes, everyone who has come out to gawk has decided this hill’s view is poor despite logic dictating that the highest vantage point must be best.

‘Sorry my dear,’ he says and shakes his head, slipping fully back to his usual form, shorter hair and all. ‘But…’

He bites his lip and looks back over Pompeii, glancing between it and Crowley.

‘Whatever you’re sensing,’ Crowley finally growls, ‘I can’t sense.’

‘Death,’ Aziraphale says in a toneless voice. ‘A thousand moments of pain, fear, suffering and, in the instant before Death comes, loneliness.’

Crowley blinks, which takes a lot of effort at the moment with how snake-like his eyes are. ‘Loneliness?’

‘Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return,’ Aziraphale quotes, wheezing as he takes another breath.

‘Stop breathing,’ Crowley grumbles and Aziraphale’s chest goes still to match Crowley’s. ‘Why are you quoting Her at me?’

Aziraphale half turns, as if… no, he can’t want a  _ hug _ . Not from  _ Crowley _ . ‘They’re alone, in the moment they die. Their souls are Dust long before they are.’

‘Long?’ Crowley says as it dawns on him that his hand is still on Aziraphale’s back. Is leaving it there more awkward than removing it? ‘You said in the instant before Death comes.’

‘Long enough,’ Aziraphale says and… is he leaning into the touch? No, Crowley’s imagining it. ‘Especially felt a thousand times.’

Yeah. Right. ‘Okay, angel, come on.’ Aziraphale blinks up at him as Crowley grips the back of his tunic. ‘Hold on, I’m gonna find us a tavern and we’re going to see if there’s enough alcohol in the place to wash the Dust out.’

There isn’t.

But the feel of Aziraphale under his hands as he miracles them to a tavern far enough away to not have heard of Pompeii’s loss yet… well it gives Crowley’s imagination a taste of hope - hope that gets him daydreaming of actually maybe, possibly,  _ hugging _ the angel one day. Or of being permitted to place his hand on Aziraphale’s bare skin.

Of being able to maybe, just maybe, _touch_ his the angel. In an acknowledged friendly way rather than awkward accidents.

Daydreams, of course. But pleasant ones.

*

Crowley pulls at the ropes binding him and hisses. Yeah, still blessed. What kind of a priest is so prepared as to have  _ blessed ropes _ hanging around?

The townspeople are starting to gather, the priest and headman quietly talking at the front of the crowd. There's a tension in the air but also a sense of excitement, of relief. 

A witch is about to die. 

Crowley would want to scream at them even if he  _ wasn't _ the witch in question.

He kinda wishes he knew  _ how _ it had gotten to this point.

His assignment here had been going fine! Chaos in the town, no one the wiser about the cause and people being petty and cruel at another without Crowley lifting a finger. Practically a holiday, if anything in this place could be called a holiday.

Well, right until that woman accused him of having an unnatural daemon. Just because his little snake didn’t talk! Or move. Or, you know, breathe all the time. Crowley’s gotten good at keeping himself breathing but the daemon is so much harder and this woman was clever enough to see through the ‘don’t think about this’ compulsion he usually uses. But that’s fine. He'd talked his way out of that, he’s a shy thing who’s hiding and of course he  _ breathes _ , what kind of a daemon doesn’t  _ breathe. _

But then his 'daemon' had to be on display at all times. You know. Just in case. And well. Just because he’d talked his way out of death didn’t mean he was any better at remembering the daemon has to move. Plus he really shouldn’t have tried on a more feminine body before coming into town but Hell had insisted in a rare display of them caring about how he did his assignments. Still, even with all that he might’ve been able to to talk his way out of that again - or at least talk his way out of town.

Right up until the moment he may have implied he didn't ah, like the king. Whoever that was this fucking century, like Crowley could keep track. 

That was the point when things got heated and then someone threw the first stone, knocking his glasses off. Clever woman saw through the glamour on his eyes and… well that was when the Holy Water and the blessed rope came out and well.

Here he is.

By the sounds of it the headman and the priest are debating a couple of things quietly, namely whose job it is to kill Crowley and from there, how. It’s not the best respite Crowley’s had but as a time waster, he’ll take it.

Then the crowd begins to part, like the sea before Moses, and Crowley’s almost glad of the gag in his mouth since it stops him saying anything.

_ Aziraphale _ .

The angel doesn’t look at Crowley, instead making a beeline for the front of the crowd before turning to face them. The headman and priest break off their discussion instantly.

‘Friar Fell! What good fortune brings you here on this day!’ the priest says. The tone in his voice is that of someone who has just gotten backup and is delighted to see them. The headman just looks sour.

Aziraphale looks up and down the priest. ‘Ineffability I’m sure,’ he says and even Crowley wants to roll his eyes. Aziraphale catches himself and adds, ‘The Grace of God has brought me here. What are you all doing?’

‘Cleansing a witch.’

‘Punishing a traitor.’

Both priest and headman speak at once and then glare at another. Great, turf wars over who gets to kill Crowley. Just brilliant.

‘A witch?’ Azriaphale looks from man to man before he steps back, turning to face Crowley. He shies back instantly, an over the top motion that makes Crowley want to roll his eyes. 

But the crowd gasps and something  _ clicks _ for Crowley. Aziraphale must be known here, to have been greeted by name. The crowd all look to him with awe, with  _ respect _ . Even the headman and priest are being deferential in their manner, staying a step behind and explaining the situation like he’s not some outsider who just walked into town. The headman’s lion daemon has a bowed head, while the priest’s hawk has buried her head under her wing.

All of which give a clear message. Aziraphale is the authority figure here.

Well then. This just got interesting.

‘Friar Fell, your help last year was noted but this creature is a danger to us,’ the headman says, though the way his lion continues to bow her head undermines any authority in his words. ‘We are going to stone it-’

‘Here?’ Aziraphale sounds incredulous, exactly as outraged as he’d been when Crowley proposed his little idea all those years ago. ‘With all your daemons visible?’

That gets a blink from both leaders - and Crowley, though no one’s paying any attention to him. The crowd are all focused on Aziraphale, with some of them clutching at their daemons. Where is he going with this?

‘Our daemons?’

Aziraphale turns his back on the men and looks over the crowd. ‘I know how this scares you, but I have dealt with creatures such as this before. And I know of the dangers that such things conceal within themselves…’ He looks down, putting a hand on the bag he’s wearing. It wiggles but no daemon pops out of it. 

‘I was present last year, when a village much like yours caught something just like this-’ he points at Crowley who hisses, reading the cue, ‘-and I saw what it did to them when it died.’ He clutches at the bag which wiggles again. Has he actually got a real creature in there or is he really using the miracles?

‘What happened Friar Fell?’ a woman in the crowd asks, when it’s clear Aziraphale is not going to continue.

Aziraphale lifts his head, face screwed up in what he probably thinks is fear but does not quite get there. Crowley would be laughing except you know. Gag.

‘Their daemons. It took their daemons with it when it died.’ Aziraphale shakes his head as the crowd gasps and step back from Crowley. ‘Some dark magic, some deal with Satan,’ he continues and looks over the crowd, ‘allowed it to take with it all the daemons in the area that it had seen.’

‘All of them?’

Aziraphale nods. ‘My dear one was safe in her bag, our shyness a saving Grace from God. But so many of that village were left… empty. Alone.’ He looks at Crowley with a frown. ‘I cannot be certain this creature is not the same thing as before.’

‘So what do we do? Let it go?’ The priest hisses, his hawk’s feathers all ruffled.

‘Of course not. Tie it to my horse, I’ll ride it out to the field south of here.’ The headman goes to protest but Aziraphale talks over his words, ‘You follow behind at a small distance - you should be able to see when it’s safer to approach.’

‘You’ll do this out of the kindness of your heart?’ the priest asks, even as the headman is already gesturing for men to untie Crowley from his pole while another runs for the back of the crowd where Aziraphale’s horse must be.

Aziraphale nods, eyes on Crowley as he is shoved over the back of the extremely nervous horse. ‘Yes,’ Aziraphale says, ‘I would do anything to not see what I saw again.’

He moves over and calms the horse, the Grace of his miracle another burn on top of everything Crowley’s already feeling. Then he mounts in a fluid movement, his back touching Crowley. He says nothing to the crowd, just urges his horse into movement and out of the village.

They ride in silence until Aziraphale reaches a field. Then he’s off the horse in a moment and pulling at the ropes binding Crowley’s hands. 

‘Crowley!’ he cries as he pulls the ropes off. ‘Are you alright?’

Crowley just wants to sob in relief as the weight on his chest vanishes, giving him access to his abilities for the first time in  _ hours _ . The burns on his wrist don’t vanish but the heat of the ropes is gone and it’s  _ so good _ . He pulls the gag out of his mouth and rolls off the horse. He doesn’t have the energy to stand yet but kneeling is good. 

‘What do you need?’ he asks, looking up at Aziraphale who blinks. ‘To convince those people?’

Understanding dawns on Aziraphale. ‘I… Something big. Attention grabbing. An explosion perhaps?’

Crowley nods. ‘Hold onto your horse,’ he warns and clicks his fingers the moment Aziraphale has a grip on the stupid creature.

The blast knocks Crowley to the ground - not that he’d been far off it - and causes Aziraphale’s horse to rear. But there’s the hint of a miracle in the air as Aziraphale protects himself and his horse from the shockwave. It also blackens the grass around them, in a perfect circle.

‘Shift!’ Aziraphale says as Crowley tries to get his breath back. ‘The villagers are coming and I can’t have a body after that.’

Oh yeah good point. Crowley starts to go for his usual form then pauses. ‘You got a daemon in there?’ he says with a nod at the bag.

Aziraphale blinks. ‘Ah no. Not managed to replace the last one yet.’

‘Good,’ Crowley says with a sigh and melts into the form of a hedgehog. Aziraphale stares down at him in confusion until Crowley waddles over towards his dropped bag and tries to get in with legs that are still shaking.

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale drops him into the bag and rises, just as the cries of the villagers start to reach them. ‘Crowley-’

‘I know,’ Crowley says, shifting his voice to a slightly higher pitch. ‘Humans and their preferences.’

‘Friar Fell!’ the headman cries as they get close. ‘You’re alright!’

Crowley feels Aziraphale turn to face them, and shuffles his head closer to the bag’s opening. He can’t see anything from here!

‘Yes, thank you. I hope I didn’t alarm you too much?’ Aziraphale reaches into the bag and pulls Crowley out, holding him close to his chest. ‘But as you can see we are still in two pieces and are perfectly fine.’ He runs a hand over Crowley’s spines which is ah. Okay. Yes. Crowley finds himself pushing into the pat without thinking about it.

‘By the Grace of God!’ the priest says, his hawk fluttering around. ‘Look at what the Grace of God has saved us from!’ He points at Aziraphale and Crowley can feel the Envy and Greed in the air. Oh dear,  _ ambition _ . ‘You must come with us Friar Fell, so we can give thanks.’

Aziraphale bows his head. ‘My good Father, I would love to but I fear that I cannot. I did not mean to visit your town on this journey but for a voice calling me to pass through.’ Crowley sticks his head back into Aziraphale’s chest to stop his eye rolls at Aziraphale’s words being visible. He’s really putting it on. ‘I need to continue my journey.’

There’s a note in his voice and Crowley can taste the miracle in the air. The villages believe Aziraphale’s lie, or at least enough of them believe it that sheer mass of belief drags the rest of them into if not belief, then compliance. 

‘Come my dear,’ he says to Crowley, who looks over the crowd one final time before letting Aziraphale put him on the horse. ‘We need to be off.’

‘I’m not the one on the ground,’ Crowley snarks, though quiet enough he’s sure the crowd won’t hear. 

Aziraphale cluckles as he mounts, before saying some vague farewells and then urging the horse into movement. Crowley digs his claws into the saddle as Aziraphale puts a steadying hand on his body.

‘Where are we headed angel?’ Crowley asks, switching back to his normal voice now they’re out of earshot. Couple more miles and he’ll swap into human form; something a little less feminine this time.

'Bar,’ Aziraphale says in a toneless voice. ‘Best place to go if you don’t want to be overheard.’

Crowley blinks and shuffles as close as he dares to Aziraphale without risking falling off of the fast moving horse. ‘What are we doing that can’t be overheard?’

Aziraphale lifts one hand and runs it along Crowley’s spines. ‘You… you wanted an… an agreement. A way to stop us cancelling each other out in damp places.’

Crowley’s tiny heart starts to pound. He stops it with a grimace. ‘I did. You ah, weren’t exactly open to that idea.’

The hand gently patting Crowley pauses. ‘I think,’ Aziraphale says in a weary voice, ‘that perhaps I was…hasty. Before.’

‘You’ll do it?’

‘I’ll discuss it,’ he says and refuses to say a word more until they reach the next town, a far busier town on this pilgrim’s route. So busy with strangers that the innkeeper barely acknowledges them when they enter - no mind to the fact it had only been one man on the horse that rode up. A couple of people eye them for their daemonlessness, until Aziraphale’s bag moves and Crowley miracles their attention away.

No point in getting himself nearly killed twice in one night.

‘So,’ Crowley says, throwing himself into a chair in the corner. ‘We’ll discuss it?’

Aziraphale bites his lip as he settles into the seat across from Crowley. ‘It does seem… a little pointless sometimes. To cancel each other out. But if we… if we were to keep one another updated on our movements. To, aaah, compare assignments on occasion… maybe lend a hand if…if needed.’

He trails off and Crowley finishes the sentence for him ‘-that wouldn’t be terrible?’

‘No,’ Aziraphale says in a rushed breath. ‘It… it would have the same net result after all and…’ he looks down, then back up, ‘and it would mean knowing where you are.’

‘Want to keep tabs on me?’ Crowley growls, waving his hand to summon the pair of drinks on the bar. No one notices when they disappear then reappear before Aziraphale and himself.

Aziraphale, who just stares at him intensely. ‘I want,’ he says in a flat tone, ‘to know if you’re in a situation like this again.’

Something warms inside Crowley and he swallows to push down the feeling. ‘Like playing the rescuer?’

‘I don’t want to see you killed,’ Aziraphale says, far too earnestly. He seems to realise that, because he swallows then adds, ‘Your replacement would hardly agree to drink with me.’

That gets a smile from Crowley. ‘Okay then angel, let’s drink to a deal - to comparing assignments.’

Aziraphale picks up his glass and pauses. ‘To… to our Arrangement,’ Aziraphale says, and there’s something in the word, a Capital that settles on Crowley’s chest.

They drink together.

Then, as Crowley goes to gulp down the rest of his drink, Aziraphale bites his lip and lowers his glass. ‘Can…can I add something?’

Crowely raises an eyebrow, making sure it’s visible over his glasses. ‘ _ You _ want to add something?’

Aziraphale nods. ‘I…I think I do.’

‘Well then, main terms of the deal are set but I’m open to some adjustments on the details. What do you want to add?’

Aziraphale narrows his eyes at Crowley’s language but seemingly decides not to comment. Instead he examines the inside of his glass for a long moment.

‘I want,’ he says just as Crowley’s about to prompt him to speak, ‘to add a clause that ah, if needed, we… we willactasoneanother’sdaemon.’

Crowley blinks. No, that can’t be what he heard. ‘We  _ what _ ?’

‘We act as one another’s daemon!’ Aziraphale says, clearly louder than he meant to. Luckily no one is paying them any attention.

That was what Crowley heard. ‘You want us to be each other’s  _ daemon _ ?’

‘It would fall under the lend a helping hand part.’ Aziraphale is slipping into his explaining tone, the posh one that Crowley’s had to rescue him from the consequences of at least twice. ‘And not a large strain.’

Crowley scuffs without meaning to, wishing he could take the noise back when Aziraphale gives him a hurt look. ‘Okay, that was uncalled for but angel… you and I both know it’ll only be me being a daemon.’ He shrugs and adds, ‘Snake after all.’

Aziraphale stares at him before looking around the pub. ‘Is anyone paying us any attention?’ Crowley focuses then shakes his head. ‘Anyone…’ Aziraphale looks up pointedly and then down.

Oh. Crowley focuses again before shaking his head once more. Just to be sure he adds a miracle to the pub, a ‘everything is normal’ sort of vibe along with a specific compulsion on the humans to ignore the pair in the corner.

‘We’re clear,’ he says.

Aziraphale nods, closes his eyes and  _ lets his shape shift _ . It takes a moment but he shakes his head out as a white cat, blue eyes striking as he sits on the top of the table. His stare is just as intense as it was a moment ago as his tail swishes off the edge of the table.

‘Not just you,’ he says, his usual voice a touch too big for the small creature he is now.

Crowley tries to find his voice, grabs it then loses it again as his mouth opens and shuts uselessly. Finally he manages to say, ‘So I’m to be stuck with an angelic cat as a daemon then?’

Aziraphale frowns - well frowns as much as his cat face is able to, his displeasure broadcast into the room - before shaking his head. Brown slowly spreads through his coat leaving a cat that, while not black, is a respectfully darker coloured creature.

It looks  _ so wrong _ . 

‘I don’t do black Crowley,’ Aziraphale says, his tail raised as he moves along the table. He hops off it, into Crowley’s lap.

Crowley’s  _ lap _ .

It takes Crowley a moment to realise Aziraphale is copying the daemon two tables over, caught as he is on the feel of soft fur and the weight of an angel. He nudges at Aziraphale who hisses for a moment, before settling down.

‘Yeah no, that’s… that’s fair. Black isn’t your colour.’ Crowley bites at his lip before adding, ‘Go back to white. It… it suits you.’ 

Aziraphale stiffens, then changes until he is a fluffy white hound that is putting its head in Crowley’s lap and looking at him with soulful eyes. It’s a look straight from Aziraphale’s human face, if Crowley’s honest, complete with those piercing blue eyes.

‘I don’t want you to be in a position like that again,’ he whispers to Crowley. ‘Promise me you’ll ask next time. Ask and I’ll come.’

‘Aziraphale…’

‘Promise me.’

‘...I promise.’ Crowley pauses, looks around the room before putting his hand on Aziraphale’s hound head. ‘And you?’

Aziraphale blinks, large puppy dog eyes that make Crowley want to start offering food. Nothing new there. ‘What?’

‘It’s mutual angel. You call me if you need a daemon.’ Crowley leans in, speaking in a whisper, ‘promise I’ll mix it up too.’

That gets Aziraphale to smile, a dog’s dopey grin. ‘I don’t know; I’ve always liked snake daemons. I’ve never met a cruel one.’ 

Something in Crowley goes tight and he lifts his hand from Aziraphale. ‘Come on, change back. You can’t get drunk as a dog and we need to be drunk to celebrate this.’

For a moment there’s a glint in Aziraphale’s eyes, that Crowley realises might mean he’s going to take the unintended challenge in Crowley’s words. But a moment later Aziraphale is human again, sitting in the chair beside Crowley - if perhaps a lot closer than before.

‘To us,’ he says, holding out the glass that hadn’t been on the table a moment ago, ‘and to our Arrangement!’

‘To our Arrangement,’ Crowley agrees, and for a moment swears he sees a flicker of gold in the corner of his eye. But no. Just his imagination.

There’s nothing there to see.

*

In the fourteenth century Crowley gets into a fight with a gentleman - a rich Lord playing at scholarship. It might have become a minor brawl, a tiny thing, but Crowley gets ah,  _ carried away _ and insults the manhood of the gentleman. Humans are so touchy about gender, he always forgets. Plus he’s been a little on edge this century, jumps to insults a little faster than usual. 

Humanity deserves it right now.

It is, however, his great luck that he's here to meet Aziraphale who shows up just as the swords come out. Aziraphale, who takes one look at the scene and jumps right into it with a punch to Crowley’s face. This knocks him down, giving him the chance to slink off to the local inn while Aziraphale deals with everyone else after having firmly established himself as not on Crowley’s side.

Probably talks them down if Crowley's any judge. The angel hates fighting and is extraordinarily good at talking - or lying - his way out of one.

‘The problemss problem’s problems is,’ Crowley slurs, now more than halfway to drunk. He looks up as Aziraphale takes off his coat and falls into the seat across from Crowley. His clothes are clean and there's a smugness around him that means he definitely talked everyone out of fighting. 

'The problemssss is that that they are wrong!’

‘About many things,’ the too cheery Aziraphale says as he steals Crowley’s bottle swapping it out for the jeweled insect daemon box he’s taken to carrying this century. Crowley has a rather nice snake necklace around his neck he can miracle into moving if needed which serves the same purpose. 

If only it was safe, if only it wasn’t a danger… If only he could always have Aziraphale around for the role! Have his angel pretend to be his  _ soul _ , to never be more than a few steps away - no way could Crowley pretend to be a witch, he  _ wants _ Aziraphale, wants him as close as possible. Or to be his angel’s soul, to wrap himself around Aziraphale’s neck as the snake he is or hover on his shoulder a little bird and preen Aziraphale’s hair to his heart’s content.

But Crowley’s taken to keeping that card in reserve for only the greatest need. To resist asking for it unless he has considered it twice which is more consideration than he ever usually bothers with. Because otherwise he would be always asking. Otherwise they could always be one another’s daemons and well.

Crowley loves Aziraphale but he’s not stupid. His greed is not worth Aziraphale’s Fall if they’re caught.

Nothing is.

‘But what in particular?’ Aziraphale adds, taking another sip and breaking Crowley out of his stream of thought. Steam of thought? Thoughts.

‘Witches.’ 

Aziraphale’s cheer slips off his face and he gulps down half the endless bottle. ‘Ah. How?’

‘They- he he he said witches are  _ born _ ,’ Crowley growls and Aziraphale grimaces. 

‘Right.’ Aziraphale hesitates, then hands back the bottle and Crowley nods in thanks. Aziraphale has been reluctant to let Crowley drink in front of him since… well since then. Thank goodness he can see this is a moment Crowley  _ really _ needs it. ‘Who this time?’

‘Butcher’s daughter.’ Crowley runs his hands through his hair and gulps down more wine. ‘Took herself there at least.’

‘That’s something,’ Aziraphale says and takes the offered bottle back, sipping at it a few times. ‘Better than the alternative.’ They both flinch at the reminder of where Aziraphale found Crowley not ten years ago - no one there had  _ had _ a choice.

‘I’ve never understood  _ why _ though,’ Crowley growls, snatching the bottle back from Aziraphale and ignoring his noise of outrage. ‘What isssss the point of maiming themssselvessss for a little more movement?’

‘Bit more than that,’ Aziraphale says and Crowley nods to acknowledge the point. ‘But my dear it is their choice and really, everything is inf-’

‘Not drunk enough for ineffable.’ Crowley snaps and a second bottle is summoned from somewhere nearby that won’t miss it until both of them are out of town. 

He holds up the bottle until Aziraphale puts his own against it. ‘To the world’sss newessst witch,’ he hisses.

‘To the world’s newest witch,’ Aziraphale says softly and they both drink.

*

The moment he leaves the bar, Crowley disappears the snake on his neck, sending it back to his flat. It’s been a while since he’s had to interact with humans on a long term basis with a fake daemon and he’d forgotten how much  _ focus _ it takes. Even if he’s not likely to end up facing his own execution over a bad fake, it still makes his skin crawl when humans treat him as lesser. 

His latest curses have been on humans who talked down to him like that, like being daemonless - or even just with a ‘weird’ daemon - is something that makes him inhuman. Never mind that he  _ is _ inhuman, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like it!

But the only way to avoid this is not an option right now. Not if he wants to pull off this heist. Aziraphale made it perfectly clear a century ago that he’s not helping, Crowley can’t ask him to be his daemon for this. No, he has to go this alone.

Crowley hops into the Bentley and tenses instantly as he feels the miracle of an angel. 

Turning his head, something loosens in his stomach when he sees it is Aziraphale. Who just miracled into the car.

What on Earth? Usually Aziraphale is more polite than this.

The conversation doesn’t get any less bizarre and soon Crowley is holding a thermos of Holy Water, his chest full of something he  _ can’t _ name, can’t let slip.

‘Should I thank you?’ he says, looking over at Aziraphale.

Who looks devastated at the thought. ‘Best not.’

And Crowley, Crowley… Crowley  _ aches _ with the desire to show Aziraphale how much this means to him, to show him how much Crowley trusts and cares for him. He wants to give Aziraphale his still beating heart and know that it will be safe because it’s in Aziraphale’s hands.

Oh.

If only Crowley had a daemon, some human thing he  _ could _ give to Aziraphale. His soul in living form, to be put in Aziraphale’s hands so that Crowley could see him caress it with as much care as he held that thermos. To show that he trusts Aziraphale, above all things. 

To put his very existence on the line to prove it.

And a part of him yearns for that trust in return. A greedy part, that awful never satisfied thing that was a part of his Fall, but a large part nonetheless. He wants to hold Aziraphale, to possess him wholly. To know that Aziraphale trusts him entirely, that Aziraphale knows the depth of Crowley’s devotion - entirely unspeakable for a demon - to him. 

Crowley  _ wants _ and it’s an ache he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. And right now, there is a look of such longing in Aziraphale’s face that he can almost believe that Aziraphale feels the same. 

_What it would be like being human?_ _If we were human and_ could _do that?_

_ Would I give up eternity for a lifetime of being his? _

Yes.

But he’s not. They’re not. So he can’t. Instead, all he can do is endure and offer his soul to Aziraphale as best he can.

‘I can give you a lift, anywhere you want to go?’ he says.

Aziraphale gives him a moment of a look, something heartbroken before he looks away and says ‘You go too fast for me Crowley.’

Oh.

No.

RIght,

So… Right. Aziraphale would not hold Crowley’s soul even if he had one to give.

At least, not  _ yet _ .

Because that, that is a promise of one day. 

Crowley can live with one day.

*

Then he’s called to a graveyard, to deliver a baby and his hellhound daemon, and Crowley realises that one day might never actually come.

_ Fuck _ .


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks again to LTRisBACK for betaing.
> 
> I am not sorry for anything this makes you feel. And yes, chapter count has gone up. It's offically going to be four chapters now...

The first hurdle in their plan strikes them sometime after the handshake but before they manage to get back to being as smashed as they were before. 

‘Daemons,’ Aziraphale says suddenly, breaking into Crowley’s ramblings about which Nanny’s outfits would be best suited for the job.

Crowley stares at Aziraphale, who stares back as if certain Crowely is following his train of thought.

‘What?’

‘Daemons!’ Aziraphale repeats as if that explains _anything_. When Crowley just continues to stare, he rolls his eyes and adds, ‘Our daemons. Well. Our character’s daemons.’

Oh. Oh. _Oh shit_. ‘We can’t be each other’s.’

Aziraphale shakes his head. ‘Not if we want to both be seen having an influence. We could alternate I suppose but someone might wonder why the Nanny and Gardener are never _ever_ seen together.’

‘Or at the same time,’ Crowley says letting some of the alcohol leave his bloodstream. ‘Gonna have to keep up fakes for what, five years? How long do nannies last with kids?’

Aziraphale grimaces. ‘Around that. Tutors will come on different days, that’ll be sortable.’

Crowley imagines years of Aziraphale being his daemon five days out of every fortnight and tries to push down the wearing in his soul. No, not yet. Five years from now.

‘But until then…’

Both of them grimace. It’s been centuries since they’ve had to interact with humans long term while having a fake daemon.

This… this might actually be impossible. _But,_ Crowley thinks looking at Aziraphale, _I have to try anyway._

_We have to try anyway._

*

It… it doesn’t go _badly_. Nanny Ashtoreth isn’t really expected to associate with the other staff, her days being devoted to Warlock and Warlock doesn’t realise there’s something wrong with his Nanny’s untalkative daemon. Some of the other staff do comment, but with Brother Frances in the house, Nanny looks somewhat normal.

Because of course Aziraphale picks a live animal for his daemon and keeps _killing the stupid thing_. 

After the fourth time Crowley revives poor Lazurus she lets the bird go. Aziraphale grumbles but the bird had looked relieved to be flying away so he miracles up a stuffed replacement until the next day.

When he has a different coloured bird. 

Crowley wants to scream in frustration.

But apart from Brother Frances’ increasingly miracled birds, Nanny Ashtoreth’s silent and unmoving snake and the general sense of bewilderment amongst the staff, it does seem to be going… well.

So well even, that the day before a shared day off three years in, Aziraphale approaches Crowley. 

‘Do… do you want to go out together tomorrow?’ he offers softly. ‘We need to compare notes and well… I still owe you for ninety-nine.’

Crowley frowns. ‘Owe me w-oh!’ She’d been Aziraphale’s daemon for three months then, helping the tech-phobic angel with his miracles.

‘It’ll be good. A shared experience that would slip under the radar of our sides.’ Which they will because it’s easy for Aziraphale to disappear into his bookshop and not be seen and Crowley’s side will assume it’s a miracle or illusion with her. Being each other’s daemons is still one of their most covert ways to meet.

Course it’s not always one of the most _enjoyable_ ways. Especially if Aziraphale is in a mood like he is today and being a right _bastard_ about it.

‘I think,’ says Aziraphale, bobbing around on Crowley’s shoulder like he’s not a ridiculously large, white parrot whose every move throws Crowley’s balance off. The Natural History Museum’s dinosaurs might be good camouflage for their sides (no way either side would notice anything happening here) but is it so hard to try not to poke fun at the extremely earnest things the humans have deluded themselves into believing. 

Made even harder by the distraction of an obnoxious angel pretending to be a parrot and getting everything but the ‘fuck you’ attitude wrong. He’s twice the size of any parrot Crowley’s ever seen, for Go- Sa- Someone’s sake!

‘You think? That’s a surprise.’ Crowley reaches up to rub at Aziraphale’s chest, trying to take the last of the sting out of her words. From the way Aziraphale leans into the touch, it’s accepted. 

‘I do think, you’ve often commented it’s too much,’ Aziraphale says and nibbles at Crowley’s fingertips. 

Crowley hisses and pulls her fingers away from Aziraphale’s parrot beak. ‘Hey!’

‘Yes dear?’ Aziraphale’s tone is innocent as can be as he starts to nibble at Crowley’s ear instead. 

Realising the angel will keep it up unless Crowley stops giving him a reaction, Crowley grimaces but makes no other noise of protest. ‘You were thinking about something?’ she asks, knowing the diversion will get Aziraphale’s bloody beak off her ear.

‘Oh yes! I think that, after this whole mess is over, we should…’ Aziraphale trails off and ducks his head behind Crowley’s, like he’s not a foot tall parrot that can’t be hidden by Crowley’s earlobes.

‘We should?’ Crowley says, pausing over a fossil that claims to be far older than it can possibly be. Humans. So behind on the joke, poor things.

‘Weshouldgoonapicnic,’ Aziraphale says in one breath, the rushed noise almost a squawk.

Crowley freezes. ‘A… a picnic?’

‘I… I did say, and we’ve done the Ritz…’ Aziraphale shifts down Crowley’s arm, so they can look another in the face. His blue eyes are still out of place on a parrot, even a white one, but Crowley’s suddenly glad she’s looking her angel in _his_ eyes, not the borrowed eyes of another form.

‘A picnic sounds nice,’ Crowley finally says.

Aziraphale bobs his whole body in delight. ‘Something to look forward to then,’ he says and leans forward to nibble at Crowley’s nose. ‘An outing together when the world is saved.’

*

Nanny Ashtoreth is let go shortly after Warlock’s sixth birthday, the gardener quitting the next day. A week later Warlock’s new tutors start, complete with a bird and snake daemon. Only Warlock seems to make the link - calling Crowley Nanny instead of Mr Harrison when they’re alone. Aziraphale, who gets the nickname Brother Cortese for his tutor character, is pleased. 

‘My influence there, caring for you like that.’

Crowley scoffs. ‘More like demonic influence, he cares more about us than his human parents. And it’s definitely an infernal trait of his, to be able to see through our disguises.’

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow at Crowley, glancing at his black skirt and darting up to stare at his fake snake daemon, before raising the other eyebrow. 

Okay, it isn’t the _best_ of disguises. The miracle telling everyone to pay no attention to any of the details _is_ and Warlock’s seen through that easily enough.

Still. Can’t give the angel a big head.

‘Oh, shut up.’

*

Their tutors contracts are not renewed the month before Warlock turns eleven, with the understanding they have prepared him perfectly for starting boarding school in the fall and are no longer needed.

‘If we manage to save the world,’ Crowley remarks to Aziraphale, who is on his shoulder as Mr Harrison’s Inland Taipan daemon, ‘Warlock is going to _hate_ it at boarding school.’

‘Well, that can be something we solve if the world doesn’t end,’ Aziraphale comments, wrapping his tail around one of Crowley’s bags. He hasn’t complained at all about being a snake, which makes something heavy sit in Crowley’s chest. In fact it had been Aziraphale who suggested they play each other’s daemons for their farewells - ‘make sure we keep the balance equal, no point in upsetting it now we’ve come so far.’

Besides it doubles their chances to say goodbye to the boy in case they _don’t_ manage this. So. A plus.

‘When does it start?’ Aziraphale says, rearing up a little to glance out the window. ‘You said when the boy turns eleven is it that day or-’

‘That day.’ Crowley rubs at the back of Aziraphale’s head until he relaxes. ‘Warlock will settle on his birthday and that’s the signal.’

Aziraphale turns, trying to face him as best he can as a snake on Crowley’s shoulders. ‘Warlock’s shown no signs of settling.’

‘He will though. If… if it’s gone wrong. And if it _has_ , he’ll settle as a Hellhound. That’s… that’s how we’ll know.’

*

The party is a disaster. 

But the kind that Warlock likes, judging by the look of joy on his face as he throws food at Aziraphale’s hapless magician. Beside him, his daemon shifts into a dog, barking with delight and Crowley’s blood freezes.

Oh no.

Oh _no_.

Then she shifts again, into a bird to dodge a piece of cake and Crowley’s pounding heart settles. No settling. 

They’ve done it.

 _They’ve done it_.

Crowley slips out the back to get to the Bentley, sure that Aziraphale’s food fight is covering his exit. His heart is pounding again, something tight in his throat, as he slips into his beloved car. He runs a hand down the steering wheel and waits, hoping Aziraphale has enough sense to stay in the food fight while he takes Hell’s punishment.

**CROWLEY! CONGRATULATIONS!**

Crowley blinks. ‘My Lord?’

**THE BOY HAS SETTLED, THE HOUNDS CRY WITH THE NEWS. YOU HAVE MANAGED THIS. SOMEHOW.**

‘Of, of… of course I did. Why ever would you doubt me?’

There’s a long moment of silence. 

**THE WAR IS COMING. THE END NEARS. HAIL SATAN!**

‘Hail Satan,’ Crowley mumbles and stares at the steering wheel. The Antichrist settled. The end of the world has started.

But Warlock’s daemon _didn’t_ settle.

The passenger side door opens and Aziraphale pokes his head in. ‘My dear, what’s wrong? You look despondent. We did it!’ He slips into the car, clutching a dead dove in one hand and his top hat in the other. ‘We did do it, right?’

Crowley shakes his head, reaching out for the dead bird. ‘Hell’s just congratulated me on the settling of the boy’s daemon.’ A quick miracle and he opens his window to let the extremely upset dove out. 

‘But Warlock’s not settled.’

‘No,’ Crowley says with a sigh. ‘No he’s not.’

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. ‘Wrong boy.’

‘Wrong boy,’ Crowley confirms, even as his heart sinks. A tiny part of him sings in glee that Warlock is _safe_ , he’s not the Antichrist so they don’t have to even _think_ about a Plan B for him. But then again, he’s not safe, is he?

No one is.

‘Welcome to the End Times,’ he says and starts the car.

*

Going back to Tadfield is a total bust - thanks Hastur! - with neither the nun or her German Shepherd daemon having any sort of clue where the boy might have gone. It’s clear to Crowley there were two boys at the place that night but well. Chances are the kid is in the Tadfield area but that could also be giving Her too much credit. She’s so much more likely to have had the second family be one passing through, on their way to somewhere else.

No point in sticking around then, they might have more luck in London. It’s not really a central location but it is home base and somewhere their sides will be looking for them. Best not to arouse suspicion yet.

Though perhaps Crowley should’ve been paying more attention to the road then their argument, a fact well demonstrated when there’s a bump.

‘You’ve hit someone!’ Aziraphale cries as Crowley stops.

‘No I haven’t,’ Crowley says defensively. ‘Someone hit me.’

Aziraphale of course goes over the top in his treatment of her, lighting up the forest for miles. Crowley dials it down instantly, noting absently the lack of daemon.

Witch then. Uncommon nowadays, but not impossible. Crowley eyes her as Aziraphale helps her into his car, leaving him to deal with the bicycle on the bloody _tartan_ rack. She doesn’t look like the sort to have had it done to her and people who become witches by accident usually end up trying to pretend it never happened in his experience. 

No, this is a deliberate witch. A part of him feels like hissing, like he always does in the presence of a self-made witch. The rest swallows it down and gets into the car.

‘So where are we taking you?’ Crowley says, starting the car and ignoring the sense of wrongness that having someone other than Aziraphale in the car creates. 

‘Back into the village,’ the woman says, a tense note in her voice. Crowley glances back and oh, knife in hand. Despite himself, he finds a tiny bit of liking rising up in him for her. ‘I’ll give you directions.’

She does, quick and painless which is another plus for Crowley. None of this navigating by what isn’t there anymore that people in small villages love - she must be new then. 

‘Listen,’ she says as they pull into another road. ‘My bike. It didn’t have gears. I know it didn’t have gears - make a left.’

‘Oh Lord heal this bii-ke,’ Crowley says quietly to a guilty looking Aziraphale. 

‘I got carried away,’ Aziraphale says in the same soft tone. 

They stop a moment later outside a cottage, a big black bird sitting on top of the fence. ‘Anathema!’ he cries as she gets out of the car, followed by Aziraphale. 

The woman - Anathema obviously - opens her arms and the bird flies into them. Crowley looks away, something lead in his stomach at the sight of human and daemon reunion. Aziraphale starts talking, trying to explain away the bike and Crowley looks back at Anathema in time to watch her eyes narrow as she looks both of them over, looks into the car, then looks at them again. Ah, the daemon check - and they’ve just failed. 

Time to go. Centuries might have given them practice at making humans ignore their daemonlessness but that doesn’t mean they should borrow trouble.

‘Get _in_ angel!’ he calls and the sheepish angel obliges. 

Right. Time to think of a next move. While they still have time to do so.

*

Only there’s no next move in Crowley’s head by the time they reach the bookshop, with only the angel’s plan to use their human agents a viable option. Sending humans to find a human - well human like - person does sound like a solid plan but Aziraphale seems… 

‘Absolutely tickety boo!’ 

Distracted. 

‘Tickety boo?’ Crowley says, making himself blink in confusion.

‘Mind how you go!’ Aziraphale calls and slams the door with a note of finality. 

Crowley slips back into his car with a sigh. ‘Well that was a thing,’ he mutters as he drives away. Surely Aziraphale isn’t _that_ fixated on their impending demise yet? They have a little bit of time left! And a plan!

A half arsed plan that might not work, but _something_. It’s better than nothing, now Plan A has gone down in spectacular flames. 

Crowley’s done a lot over the years with something. One thing is often all you need to make a lot more things happen. Just look at Free Will - all that took was an Apple and a bit of ignoring rules and oh hey, now humanity knows itself enough for daemons to settle.

No, Aziraphale’s just a little nervous probably. Focused on his contacts, like Crowley should be.

Urgh, Shadwell. Like Crowley’s week hasn’t been bad enough already without dealing with him.

*

Contacting Shadwell is easy, if annoying. His green mohawk wearing turtle daemon eyes Crowley the entire time, not paying a second of attention to the snake he has wrapped around his arm. Like she knows it isn’t worth paying attention to.

Okay, she’s brighter than her human for sure. Still ridiculous.

But once Crowley’s given the request and run off, leaving the pair with the bill...well. Crowley has no further options. He has to wait for Shadwell and his ridiculous daemon to find something...

‘How hard can it be?’ Crowley growls a few hours later. ‘I gave very specific instructions, there can’t be that many recently settled boys in Tadfield to begin with, without adding in the bit about dog daemons!’

His room does not respond and Crowley growls again, going for the phone. Maybe Aziraphale’s operatives have had more success than _Shadwell_.

*

Aziraphale is nervous as he approaches the bandstand, Crowley can tell. Fidgeting with his hands, looking around like he’s the paranoid one of their pair, and jittery in the way he moves closer. 

Not good signs.

Still. Crowley has to ask. ‘Any news?’

‘Um. What kind of news would that be?’ Aziraphale says, like there’s _any_ other kind of news that matters today.

Definitely nervous. What has happened to him? ‘The missing Antichrist? Do you have his name, his address and shoe size?’

‘Shoe size? Why would I have his shoe size?’ There’s a note of something in Aziraphale’s voice. Is… is he lying? No, no he’s not. But that is a odd tone for him to have.

‘Joke,’ Crowley says, eyeing Aziraphale. ‘I’ve got nothing either.’

Aziraphale draws himself up, like he usually does before a lecture. ‘It’s the Great Plan Crowley.’

‘Bollocks to the Great Blasted Plan!’ Crowley snaps, clenching his hands. 

‘May you be forgiven,’ Aziraphale says in that offended tone he usually gets. 

Something in Crowley snaps. ‘I won’t be forgiven,’ he snarls, ‘Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description. _Unforgivable._ That’s what I _am._ ’

It looks like Crowley’s scored a point in their fight - when did it become a fight, why are they fighting they don’t have that long to go they can’t fight! - when Aziraphale looks away. Then looks back up with a softer expression.

‘You were an angel once,’ he says like that means _anything_ now. 

Crowley’s heart aches. ‘That was a long time ago,’ he manages to say through the lowness of that blow. ‘We find the boy and his daemon. My agents can do it…’

‘Then what?’ Aziraphale says, drawing himself up. ‘The daemon’s settled, it’s started now. We’d… we’d have to eliminate him.’

It takes a lot of effort for Crowley not to grit his teeth. ‘Well… somebody does. I’m not personally up for killing kids.’

Aziraphale looks affronted. ‘You’re the demon,’ he throws in Crowley’s face. ‘I’m the nice one. I don’t have to kill children.’ 

Crowley wants to hiss at Aziraphale. Wants to scream, wants to howl, wants to grab Aziraphale’s face and rub it in the bodies of the thousands of children Heaven’s let die over the years, or had killed on their orders as collateral damage. Just because _he’s_ never done it, doesn’t make Aziraphale as perfect as he’s trying to act.

But that’s not productive. It won’t _help_. Crowley makes a vague noise of agreement instead of screaming.

It prompts Aziraphale to continue. ‘If you kill him, then the world gets a reprieve, and Heaven does not have blood on its hands.’

Yeah, hate to not be able to see the blood it already has there.

‘No blood on your hands,’ Crowley finds himself saying. ‘That’s a bit holier than thou, isn’t it?’

Aziraphale sniffs. ‘I am a great deal holier than thou. That’s the whole point.’

Crowley feels himself losing whatever grip he has on his restraint. ‘Then you should kill the boy yourself. Holi-ly.’

‘I’m not killing anybody,’ Aziraphale snaps, like he’s not the soldier he _is_. If this fails, he’s going to have to kill someone - why not the one life that will save the bloody world?

‘This is ridiculous,’ Crowley says, realising it is as he speaks. ‘You are ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.’

‘Frankly, neither do I,’ Aziraphale says and it’s a knife to the heart Crowley rarely admits he has.

That’s it. He can’t take anymore of this. ‘Enough,’ he says. ‘I’m leaving.’ 

He storms away but doesn’t get very far before Aziraphale calls out after him. ‘You can’t leave, Crowley. There isn’t anywhere else to go.’

Crowley turns back, looking at Aziraphale. Seeing the worry in his eyes, the fear in his tense pose, and behind him the stars starting to emerge as dusks fades into night.

He has no soul to offer Aziraphale, but he can hand over his heart.

‘Big universe,’ he says, his heart pounding in his chest. ‘Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together.’

‘Go off together?’ Aziraphale asks and _oh no_ he sounds upset. Why is he upset? ‘Listen to yourself!’

‘How long have we been friends?’ Crowley insists, ‘Six thousand years?’

‘Friends? We aren’t friends! We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common.’ Aziraphale looks at Crowley pleadingly. ‘I don’t even like you,’ he lies.

‘You doooo,’ Crowley says, not willing to put up with Aziraphale’s lies. Not today, not with his heart so openly on the table.

Aziraphale bites his lip then blurts out, ‘Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you. We are on opposite sides.’

‘We’re on _our_ side,’ Crowley begs, his heart pounding. ‘Aziraphale _please_ . You know that if I had a soul Aziraphale, a daemon… it, it would be yours. You _know_ this. Please.’

 _Please stop lying_ , he thinks but does not say.

Aziraphale just shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t think it would be. You wouldn’t give your soul to _me_. There… there isn’t an ‘our side’, Crowley.’ He looks away. ‘Not any more. It’s over.’

And Crowley feels whatever fight he had in him deflate. He takes a deep breath, then sighs, turning away. ‘Right,’ he manages to say. ‘Well then. Have a nice doomsday.’

He leaves, ignoring the voice screaming that this will be the last time he ever sees Aziraphale before the End. 

He can’t stay. He _can’t_.

*

Of course, there’s nowhere really to go. Searching the heavens for inspiration turns up a few options but… 

But _Aziraphale_ . Crowley can’t leave while he’s still here, can’t walk out until he’s either got a firm(er) no or the End has truly started. He _can’t_ abandon Aziraphale, not yet.

Plus Shadwell may yet come through.

Fine. Time to see if there’s anything good showing at the theatres to pass the time.

*

Hell knows.

 _Hell_ knows.

Hell _knows_.

Crowley’s fucked. He has to be. They know Warlock isn’t the Antichrist and they are _coming_ for him. Sending Hastur too, which is a stroke of Hellish inspiration that Crowley’s almost mad he didn’t have a hand in. Though knowing Hell there wasn’t any inspired thinking in it. Just throwing beings at problems until solved…

Hang on, off topic. What’s on topic?

Oh yeah Crowley’s _fucked_.

But that’s okay. There’s still two back up plans and time. A small bit of time.

He has to check on Aziraphale. Has to convince Aziraphale to come away, to escape before Hell finds the ability to do logic and make the jump that leads them to hurt Aziraphale. It’s going to take apologies Crowley isn’t sure are his to make but that’s okay. Crowley might have pride but he’s never had any where Aziraphale is concerned. Whatever he has to say, he will say.

He can’t let Aziraphale get hurt. Not because of him.

*

Crowley pulls up to the bookshop in more of a rush than usual, his chest tight and throat filled with rocks that won’t go away. He has to convince Aziraphale this time, he _has_ to.

Hell knows.

‘I’m sorry!’ he calls out as soon as he spots Aziraphale, just outside the bookshop and looking very ruffled. ‘I apologise. Whatever I said, I… I didn’t mean it. Please, work with me, I’m apologising here.’ Aziraphale turns to face him, blinking and he doesn’t look mad!

Crowley has a chance. 

‘Yes? Good. Get in the car.’

‘What? No!’ Aziraphale looks offended and upset, like Crowley has just said something horrific.

Damn it. Not enough apologies. Or context? Aziraphale likes context. 

‘Forces of Hell. They’ve figured out that it was my fault,’ and Aziraphale gives Crowley a wide eyed look. _Yes!_ Crowley’s getting through to him, Aziraphale will realise it's hopeless and they’ll escape _together_ and it won’t matter that Aziraphale doesn’t want Crowley, doesn’t want his soul, he’ll be _alive_.

‘We can run away, together. Alpha Centauri,’ Crowley says with a gesture. ‘Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody will notice us.’

Then Aziraphale shakes his head.

He _shakes his head_. ‘Crowley, you’re being ridiculous,’ he says, tone like he doesn’t realise he’s just stabbed Crowley in the heart again. ‘I’m quite sure,’ he continues in his posh ‘can I talk to the manager’ voice, ‘that if I can just reach the right people, I can get all this sorted out.’

Dear Go- Sa- SOMEONE how thick can this angel be. ‘There aren’t any right people,’ Crowley snarls, feeling his fangs in his mouth. ‘There’s just God. Moving in mysterious ways and NOT TALKING TO ANY OF US.’

Aziraphale nods, like Crowley made a valid point instead of derailing Aziraphale’s entire argument. ‘Well yes. That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it.’

Fucking Earth. Aziraphale’s bloody _faith_. ‘That won’t happen,’ Crowley says and resists the urge to scream. ‘You’re so clever,’ he continues without thinking. ‘How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?’

There’s a moment of outrage on Aziraphale’s face, then he takes a long breath and it fades away. ‘I forgive you,’ he says and Crowley barely stops himself from hissing at him. God, a part of him just wants to charge over there, screaming and hissing until Aziraphale _gets it_ . There’s no saviour coming to fix this. Nothing _talking_ can do.

But Hell is coming for Crowley. He can’t stay here, not any longer. He has to _go_ and…

And Aziraphale isn’t coming.

‘I’m going home, angel,’ he says, a flickering hope in his chest that maybe _these_ are the words that break into Aziraphale’s stubborn head, even as a weight settles in his stomach because he’s leaving _without_ Aziraphale. ‘I’m getting my stuff. And I’m _leaving_.’

‘And when I’m off in the stars, I, I won’t even think about you!’ he threatens, the worst words he could think of hearing from Aziraphale.

And there’s a flash of something on Aziraphale’s face, something that any other time would cause Crowley to stop and apologise, stop and make it up to him. But right now fire burns through his veins and he can’t stay here with someone so stupid, so stubborn, that he can’t see the world in front of him.

He has to go, Aziraphale be damned.

So why does it feel like he’s leaving his soul behind when he does?

*

The moment the phone rings midway through Crowley trying to deal with Hastur, Crowley’s heart stops. 

_Aziraphale_.

He sounds calm but he’s _calling_.

Something like hope settles into Crowley’s chest as he picks up the phone, cutting off Aziraphale’s words. ‘Sorry, can’t talk now. Got an old friend here,’ he says, hanging up over Aziraphale’s protests. He has to deal with Hastur and then he can call and Aziraphale will _answer_.

It’s going to work out. Crowley knows it.

*  
  


The bookshop is on fire.

The _bookshop_ is on _fire_.

Oh no.

Somehow, Hell got here first.

‘Aziraphale!’ Crowley screams as he runs into the bookshop. ‘Aziraphale!’ 

The fire distorts his voice, making it echo in a strange almost doubling way. But he only notes it in an absent manner as he squints through the flames looking for his missing angel. ‘Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you? I can’t find you! Aziraphale! For Go- for Sa- for SOMEBODY’S SAKE, where ARE you?’

Nothing. Nothing but flames and smoke and _silence_. Well of voices, there’s so much noise and maybe Crowley’s not far enough in, maybe Aziraphale is just over ther-

The window smashes as the firefighters outside send water through it, the force of the blow knocking Crowley to the ground. Above him is smoke and around him is flames and he is _alone_ in here. Alone.

And without Aziraphale.

Aziraphale is _dead_.

‘Bastards,’ he says as he crawls to his knees and looks to Heaven. ‘Bastards the lot of you! To Hell with you all, I’m… I’m not doing this! Not without him! I don’t care about anybody but him.’ 

He takes a choked breath and screams with all the strength in his lungs. ‘Somebody killed my best friend and I don’t even care who did it. Bastards, all of you.’

Crowley looks down and sees a only slightly singed book, grabbing at it like the lifeline it is. ‘I won’t be alone,’ he whispers and clutches the book to his chest. ‘I can’t be alone…’

Something heavy settles in his chest then, a weight that presses at him and pushes him to the ground again. It is _so heavy_ , the weight of being alone and facing an end he cannot escape. Of being without the one you loved more than anything on this Earth, of having to face even a few hours without a constant of your existence that you never thought to imagine a world without.

Is this what it means to be human? He left his soul here, and someone’s come and burnt it out of him.

‘To Hell with you all,’ he whispers and lets a tear drop onto his book. ‘You killed him and I… I-’

He trails off as he looks up and sees a glowing form in front of him, his voice choking on the words in his throat. The form - the _Dust_ \- settles into a shape, one as familiar to him as Aziraphale is - no _was -_ though he’s never seen it before in his life.

Seen them before in his life.

Their life.

‘Janus,’ he whispers and the glow disappears, the goose before him nodding their head as they waddle closer. ‘Janus, my Janus.’

‘My Crowley,’ they say and he opens his arms to his daemon, letting them bury their head in his chest as he clings to them. It feels _perfect_ , like somehow his soul is whole again. He has found something he hadn’t realised he was missing until now as he clutches it to his heart. Aziraphale is gone and that tugs at his everything, ruins the idea of a perfect world but with Janus here…

They are together. They are _together_. 

He is not _alone_.

‘They killed him,’ he whispers to them and Janus nods, rubbing their head against his soot covered shirt.

‘We’re _alone_ ,’ they say, and that. That feels _right_ , in a way Crowley hasn’t quite felt since he Fell from the sky and fell again for an angel too kind for any world.

Crowley pulls Janus into his arms and stands. His daemon buries their head under his jaw and he clings to their soft feathers.

The Antichrist’s daemon has settled. The world is going to end for everyone just like it has for Crowley and Janus in just a few short hours.

‘We need a drink,’ Janus says. ‘Toast the world one last time.’

Yes. Yes they do.

*

Only Aziraphale _isn’t_ dead and oh God Crowley can’t let Aziraphale down and he wants to save the world so they’re going to have to save the world for him, of course. Janus urges him on from the backseat, their head over his shoulder. They’d started off in the front seat but no. 

That was _Aziraphale’s_ seat. Them being in it felt wrong.

It also means when Hastur shows up, Janus ducks down so as to be out of sight. Something itches at them, pushes them to remain unseen - and Crowley can feel it vaguely in the back of his head.

Oh this is so not the time to be getting used to anything.

There is only mutual agreement when Crowley drives through the Hellfire of the M25, Janus’ belief in the car as strong as Crowley’s despite this being their first proper trip.

‘We’ll make it to Tadfield,’ Janus says as they pull past the bewildered coppers. ‘And Azirpahale will be waiting for us.’

‘You’re optimistic,’ Crowley grumbles, which gets a laugh from Janus and a fond nibble to his ear. 

‘ _We’re_ optimistic,’ Janus corrects and they continue to the end of the world.

*

Janus stays back as they approach the children, though not too far. There's a tinge of pain if they go too far, something in Crowley's chest but also somehow in all planes at once? Go- Sat- EARTH how did the witches do it if this is how much it hurts to even try to be alone?

They're far enough away at least that Beezlebub's eyes don't linger on them. They do start to squawk when Satan comes, but well. So does everyone.

Then Aziraphale makes the worst threat he can think of, the exact words to cut soul deep, and Crowley. Crowley reaches for every inch of power he has and pulls them out of time.

He feels it the instant he does. He is _alone._

Adam screams as Crowley looks around, his heart pounding as he searches for Janus and awaits the soul deep agony - but no, of course. This is a pocket dimension, one Crowley has created from his own imagination. 

And Crowley did not imagine a pocket dimension with daemons. He’s not used to having to.

‘Dog!’ Adam screams and oh. _Oh_.

‘He’s fine,’ Crowley says and Adam’s attention snaps to him. ‘We’re in a pocket of time, a pocket dimension and,’ he pauses, his words tripping over each other in his head, ‘and daemons can’t be here. He’s standing at your side in reality, frozen with the rest of them.’

Crowley nods at the Dust hovering by Adam’s heels, a glowing indication of Dog’s position. There’s a similar cloud of it when Crowley looks behind him to where Janus wa- _is_ standing. Their clouds are not the only clouds of Dust of course, it fills the air, swirling in beautiful patterns that Crowley’s never paid attention to before now. 

Now he doesn’t have the time.

Aziraphale clears his throat and Crowley gives him an absent glance. Yes, no cloud for him at his heels because of course the angel’s not got a daemon. Dust does settle on him but in much the same way it’s settling on their wings. Though that bit around his neck is a lot thicke-

‘What am I supposed to do?’ Adam asks and Crowley loses his train of thought. Right, Satan here to destroy them. ‘I’m just a kid.’

‘I know,’ Crowley says, the pity he feels in his voice. Adam is so… so _human_ , and he’s so small. So young. ‘But Satan is coming to destroy us. Your father who is no longer in Heaven is coming because you… _we_ have defied him.’

Adam looks down at the cloud of dust that is Dog. ‘What do you want me to do? Fight him? Dog settled and even then, we never did big things like that anyway.’

Crowley shakes his head. ‘I don’t think that fighting him will work.’ Heaven’s Army couldn’t beat Satan in the first War, though Michael had been close until She’d stepped in. Crowley might’ve been hiding from the battle but he saw that much. ‘We’ll have to think of something else.

Adam looks at them pleadingly. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

Aziraphale steps forward and something glitters around his neck. ‘And that’s not a bad thing to be. I feared you would be Hell incarnate, I hoped you might be Heaven incarnate but you’re not. You’re better. You’re _human_ incarnate - just look at your daemon.’ 

They all look down at the Dust at Adam’s heels. ‘Dog?’

‘Dog,’ Aziraphale says, his hand moving to this throat for a moment before falling to his side. ‘The first Adam’s daemon was a sheep, a brave thing to help provide in their new world. But yours is a dog, a constant companion to see it through to tomorrow.’

Adam gives Aziraphale a smile. Crowley swallows a groan as the weight of Time starts to press at him.

‘Reality will listen to you right now,’ he says, putting his glasses on and grabbing the Bentley’s crank starter from his belt. ‘You can _change_ things if you do it fast.’

‘And whatever happens,’ Aziraphale says holding out his hand to Adam, ‘for good or for evil, we’re beside you.’

Adam takes Aziraphale’s hand, then offers his other hand to Crowley. Crowley readys his weapon, seeing Aziraphale do the same on Adam’s other side, before taking the offered hand.

‘Ready?’ he asks and Adam nods. ‘You won’t have long to do what you’re going to do.’

Another nod. Crowley reaches for Time and lets. It. Go.

The world restarts around them. All the Dust vanishes and Janus reappears at Crowley’s side with a squawk. Dog, now behind Adam, is barking like a wild thing, a noise that doesn’t stop with the reappearance of his human. Janus strides over to them, standing behind Dog and hissing with the menace only a goose can manage.

‘Do it Adam!’

Adam steps forward, releasing their hands. Crowley readies himself to fight, the first time he’s ever faced another angel - or demon - in his existence with the intention of striking them. But only if Adam needs it, it’s his show now.

‘You’re not my Dad,’ Adam says and a part of Crowley wants to groan because this is not the time. But then the words echo through the world and oh. OH!

‘Dad’s don’t wait until you’re eleven and settled to say hello. And then turn up to tell you off.’ Dog barks in agreement from under Janus’ flapping wings.

Satan looks confused. Which… which is not a look Crowley thought he’d ever see. ‘What?’

‘If I’m in trouble with my Dad…’ The world trembles, holding on a moment and Crowley finds himself holding his breath too at Adam’s words. ‘...then it won’t be you. It’s going to be the dad who was there.’

Adam holds himself up as the world screams and starts to _listen_. ‘You’re. Not. My. Dad.’

‘What did you say?’ Satan roars.

‘You can do it!’ Aziraphale says, lowering his sword a little.

‘Say it Adam,’ Crowley says at the same time and Janus nuzzles Dog who whines and licks their beak.

‘You’re not my Dad,’ Adam tells Satan and the world begins to change. ‘You never were.’

And Satan starts to dissolve, even as he screams denial. The changes speed up, soaking into the reality of the world so fast Crowley’s sure most of humanity won’t even remember today happened let alone _what_ happened. 

Then Satan is smoke and a man in an older model car is driving up. 

Adam’s father.

‘That’s not really his father…’ Aziraphale asks, moving closer with his now unflaming sword.

Crowley tilts his head as he feels the changes start to settle. ‘It is. It is now. And it always was.’ Crowley looks over at his daemon, who nudges Dog back to Adam after a final touch of beak to nose. ‘He did it!’ Crowley adds, warmth settling into his chest. 

Adam did it.

The end of days is _over_.

Adam’s father is calling for him as Janus waddles over. Aziraphale looks down at them with a frown. ‘Oh I’m sorry w-’

He cuts off the second Janus half leaps, half flies into Crowley’s arms. Crowley clutches his daemon close and tries not to read anything into the look on Aziraphale’s face. 

‘Aziraphale, Janus. Janus-’

‘I know,’ Janus says and nips at Crowley’s ear. ‘I know.’

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale says and there’s something strange in the way he’s looking at Janus. It’s not open disgust but it’s _something_ that Crowley is too scrambled right now to place. ‘Oh my dear-’

‘You don’t have a daemon,’ Adam says and both Aziraphale and Crowley jump - though Crowley will never admit to it.

They turn to look at Adam, whose father looks like he is herding the other children into his car while also trying to fit their bicycles somewhere. Crowley snaps and knows that miraculously, they’ll all fit. Adam must have taken the chance to wander off.

‘No my dear boy, I am an angel. I… I don’t have a daemon.’ Aziraphale glances at Janus with that look in his eyes again.

Adam frowns. ‘You’re not lying but…’ he scrunches up his nose. ‘You’re confusing,’ he says, eyes on Aziraphale’s neck. ‘You’re not lying,’ he repeats and turns when his father calls his name.

‘I’m going to be grounded forever but when that’s done, come visit,’ he says with the self-assurance only a former Antichrist can have. ‘And bring Warlock, I want to meet him.’

Then he’s gone, climbing into his father’s stuffed but somehow still comfortable car. Crowley blinks, then shares a look with Janus.

‘Children are weird,’ he says finally, because that about sums it up. Even all powerful, kids are weird. ‘Come on angel, I think I drove past a bus stop in town.’

And gathering up the last of the Horsepeople’s items, Crowley and Aziraphale stumble past the bewildered adults who are too busy talking to another to notice, headed to the village’s tiny bus stop. A bus for London does miraculously show up and the three of them board, Janus flapping into the ceiling racks for flying daemons.

The entire time, Aziraphale only looks at Janus once more while they’re waiting for the bus, with a look that Crowley is starting to think might be disgust.

Well _fuck_.

*

‘Do I disgust you?’ Janus finally snaps, when they’ve settled into the living room in Crowley’s flat, Agnes’ prophecy in hand, and Aziraphale _still_ hasn’t looked at them even once. ‘Is it so awful that I exist that you can’t even stomach seeing me?’

Aziraphale does look over at Janus, for a moment, before he turns pleading eyes on Crowley. 

Crowley just shakes his head. ‘Angel, I… Janus is me too, I.. I… I… why do we disgust you?’

‘No,’ Aziraphale says, shaking his head. ‘No, no, no.’

‘No you’re not dealing with this?’ Janus snaps, flapping their wings.

‘No you don’t disgust me,’ Aziraphale snaps back, before taking a visible deep breath. ‘No… No you could _never.’_

Janus flaps up onto the couch as Aziraphale gets up, starting to pace. ‘Then what’s wrong angel?’ they ask, ‘Why can’t you look at me?’

And Aziraphale turns, looking at Janus with that same look in his eyes that he’s had all evening. Crowley rises from the couch, his heart pounding in his chest.

‘I want to look at you,’ Aziraphale says, his eyes on Crowley even as he addresses Janus. ‘You do not disgust me. You never could. You see… I… I… I care for you deeply, dear Janus,’ and Crowley shivers to hear his daemon’s name in Aziraphale’s voice for the first time. ‘But…’

He trails off, biting his lip and stares at Janus. He clenches his hands and stiffens his shoulders, giving off the thousand tells Crowley knows mean he’s nervous beyond belief. Like he’d been for his first temptation.

And as always, Aziraphale’s eyes say so much more than his words ever could.

Aziraphale stares at Janus like he stares at the last piece of cake in a bakery that the person in front of him has just ordered. He looks at Janus with envy, with _greed_ and with a tiny hint of what Crowley would call _wrath_ on any other person. The anger of someone who wants but cannot have, the guilty rage of a loved one who is happy for you but wants exactly what you have.

It dawns on Crowley that the look on Aziraphale’s face at the bus stop hadn’t been disgust, or displeasure or even something far more neutral. It had been _longing_.

It still _is_.

Crowley takes a step forward, so he’s almost, but not quite about to hold the nervous angel. ‘Aziraphale?’

‘I…’Aziraphale bites his lip then throws himself into Crowley’s arms. Surprised, Crowley’s arms are around Aziraphale before he realises he’s moved.

‘Angel?’ he says as he pulls Aziraphale close. Something grips at his heart when he realises Aziraphale is weeping silently. ‘Angel, what’s wrong?’

‘I can feel them,’ Aziraphale whispers into his shoulder, gripping tightly to Crowley’s clothes. 

Crowley freezes. ‘What?’

‘I can _feel_ them,’ Aziraphale repeats and the lack of even a drop of annoyance chills Crowley more than anything else has in the last two minutes. ‘Crowley, I’m… I’m _changing_ . I’m… I’m going to have a daemon, I can _feel_ them.’

‘It doesn’t hurt,’ Crowley says, his eyes on Janus who is crowding as close as they can without risking touching Aziraphale. Now is not the time. ‘You feel… you feel complete, when they’re here.’

But Aziraphale shakes his head. ‘I'm scared Crowley,’ he says, in the smallest voice Crowley’s ever heard him use. ‘I’m scared,’ Aziraphale repeats while Crowley is still gapping at the admission. ‘I’m scared I won’t be me if i accept this. Frightened I won’t be myself if I let this change happen, if I become the kind of angel that has a _daemon_.’ 

He lifts his head, so he’s looking Crowley right in his eyes. ‘Scared… scared you won't love me anymore if I change that much.’

‘Oh _angel_ ,’ Crowley sighs, and puts his hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, cupping it as Aziraphale’s eyes close. ‘There’s no risk of that.’

‘I’ll be an angel with a daemon!’ Aziraphale snaps, the touch of life in his voice making Crowley want to jump for joy. ‘I won’t be me-’

‘You will be,’ Crowley snaps and Aziraphale opens his eyes, wide with shock. ‘You _will_ be you, because right now you are the kind of angel that is exactly the kind of angel that has a daemon. Our side, remember?’

Aziraphale lifts his hand to cup Crowley’s cheek. ‘But what if I change into someone you can’t love?’ He bites his lip. ‘I don’t think I could bear it if my love for you was unrequited.’

Crowley’s heart _pounds_ at the admission, at the sound of their unspoken words finally being aired. He feels like he is walking on air, and yet somehow also feels like he has taken a false step while walking down stairs and is free falling into solid ground. Behind Aziraphale is the fluttering of outraged wings as Janus tries to express the volume of their feelings with limited and inexperienced body parts.

How could Aziraphale think that?

‘I have loved you,’ he says, holding Aziraphale’s face steady so he is looking him directly in the eyes, ‘for six thousand years angel. I have adored you through every change of your existence, even the ones that made me want to curse you out for being a stubborn bastard.’ Aziraphale gasps but Crowley soldiers on before he can be interrupted, feeling the comforting weight of Janus leaning against his leg as he speaks. 

‘There is nothing you could do, no...no _thing_ you could change into, that I would not love.’

‘ _Crowley_ ,’ Aziraphale breathes and leans in.

‘I love you,’ Crowley says in the moment before their lips touch.

‘I love _you_ ,’ Aziraphale replies, pulling back from their kiss with bright eyes and looking so much like Eve's did in that moment when she bit the apple. 'I _choose_ you,' he whispers before he kisses Crowley again.

It only lasts a moment, a millisecond of time, before Aziraphale pulls away and stumbles back. Janus only just manages to dart out of the way in time, throwing themselves into Crowley’s arms as Aziraphale clutches at his neck with wide eyes.

A moment later the air around his neck starts to glow, a formless ring of Dust that shimmers as Aziraphale gasps and pants. His eyes glow faintly, though whether that is because of his own innate power or because of the glowing golden Dust in the air, Crowley can’t be sure.

This, this is a _private_ moment. The most private they’ll ever have. Crowley… Crowley _should_ look away but he doesn’t. Instead he stares as if stupefied, arms around his wrigging daemon, eyes fixed on the Dust as it slowly winds into a shape around Aziraphale’s neck.

And Settles.

‘Malak,’ Aziraphale says and gently lifts his daemon’s head, looking into their slitted eyes with the same wonder he often directs at Crowley. ‘ _Malak_ ,’ he says again and the white serpent hisses, tongue flicking out to kiss at Aziraphale’s face.

Then they turn and look as one, two nearly identical pairs of blue eyes staring at Crowley and Janus. Malak’s tongue flickers out, their eyes alert and head tilted and Crowley can’t take his eyes off them. Can’t stop looking at the white, shimmering serpent that is Aziraphale’s soul. They are nothing like Crowley has never imagined Aziraphale’s daemon to be - all the times he’s played Aziraphale’s daemon, he’s so rarely done it as the black serpent that is his truest form - but now he sees Malak, Crowley cannot see Aziraphale’s soul as being anything else. 

Images flash through Crowley’s mind, six thousand years of friendship and love, and in every memory there is a white serpent with Aziraphale. Crowley cannot envision Aziraphale without Malak, just as he cannot see himself without Janus by his side.

Dear Somebody, is this what it means to be being and daemon?

‘My dear?’ Aziraphale shifts in place, head tilted slightly, just like Malak’s. ‘I ah… I-’

‘They’re beautiful,’ Crowley breathes and Aziraphale glows. Literally. It disappears a moment later when Malak slaps at the back of his head with their tail but for that second it lights up the room.

‘Oh dear,' Aziraphale says, cheeks faintly red. ‘Oh dear.’

Crowley lets Janus down, taking a step forward then pausing. ‘Don’t… don’t be embarrassed angel. You.. I… You’re… Ah-’

Aziraphale and Malak exchange looks before Malak uncoils themself from around Aziraphale’s neck and slides down to the floor. Then Aziraphale is moving forward, pulling Crowley into his arms. 

‘My dearest,’ he says and Crowley grips back as tight as he can. ‘I am honoured you were here.’

Crowley looks down when his chest starts to fill with warmth beyond what he was feeling as the hug happened and smiles. Malak has wrapped themself around Janus in much the same way as the angel is attempting to do, and Crowley shouldn’t be so pleased to see his goose in the coils of a serpent.

But he _is._

‘We, we, we have to, to think,’ Janus finally says, rubbing their beak along Malak’s scales. ‘Prophecy.’

Aziraphale squeezes one final time and steps back. Crowley instantly feels the loss and wants to chase after it but no. He can’t. Not _yet_.

‘I have an idea,’ Aziraphale says as if admitting a reluctant truth instead of a plan that might save them from the destruction warned in Agnes’ words. ‘But it may be unworkable now.’

Crowley raises an eyebrow. ‘Angel how?’

‘We swap _faces_ ,’ he says, putting an emphasis on it that escapes the bounds of mortal words. Crowley’s eyes widen as he realises what Aziraphale means - an essence swaps of sorts. ‘But that… that won’t swap daemons. We’d have each other’s face and our own daemons.’

‘No one’s seen me,’ Janus says before Crowley can express his fury and fear at how _dangerous_ Aziraphale’s plan is. ‘Not alone with Crowley - and Malak’s not been seen at all.’

Aziraphale frowns. ‘But… no? How could they look at Crowley and see him without you?’

‘You give them too much credit,’ Crowley says with a sigh. ‘They’ll look at us and our daemons and see… well see an angel with a goose and a demon with a snake and decide if we have to be so native at least it’s fitting.’

That gets a laugh from Malak, a hissing noise Crowley instantly falls in love with and needs to hear as many times as possible. ‘Ssssilly creatures,’ they say and bury their head in the feathers on Janus’ back. ‘They ssssee but they do not obssserve.’

Janus shakes themself until Malak falls off with another hissed laugh. ‘No Sherlock Holmes on my back!’

‘I knew you read!’ Aziraphale cries and _oh no_.

‘We need to practice,’ Crowley snaps before Aziraphale can get derailed into talking about books. ‘We have to get this swap right before morning.’

Some of the brightness fades from Aziraphale’s eyes but he nods. ‘Of course my dear.’ He offers Crowley his hand. ‘Shall we?’

And Crowley, with the deepest breath of his life, takes it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, you're going to hate me for splitting this chapter in two. Sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Continued and everlasting thanks to LTRisBACK for betaing!
> 
> Chapter four is over halfway done and should be up next Wednesday, or by next Sunday at the absolute latest.

It works.

It  _ works _ . 

They meet in the park as planned, Janus barely able to stop themself fluttering with joy as they tell Aziraphale about the bookshop and are told about the Bentley in return. Heaven grabs them both while Aziraphale is distracted by Death, Janus being stuffed into a sack by gloved hands. 

They don’t bother to let Janus out, even when they tie Crowley to a chair and take the duct tape off his mouth. Janus starts to honk, obnoxious as only a goose can be.

‘Shut it up!’ Uriel snaps as Gabriel approaches. 

‘Let them out,’ Crowley hisses in return, ‘and maybe they will be!’

‘You can’t control it?’ Gabriel says with a leer. ‘Pathetic.’ But he nods and Uriel lets Janus out of the sack.

They come out hissing, like a proper goose on a rampage but only for as long as it takes for the angels to back up. Then they flap their way into Crowley’s lap, to lean against his chest. Crowley twitches his hands, the only sign he’s willing to give of the aching need to hold them, to bury his fingers in their feathers and be alone together.

Gabriel sneers and otherwise ignores the goose in Crowley’s lap, right up until Crowley rises. 

‘May we meet on a better occasion,’ he says in the exact way Aziraphale would. 

‘Hurry up and die already,’ Gabriel snarls, eyes on Janus. ‘Then we’ll be rid of you and your little creature.’

Janus honks at him, the most obnoxious noise they can make. Then Crowley walks into the Hellfire and Janus  _ follows him in _ .

‘What?’ he hisses but it’s too late - Janus is in.

And fine. Their feathers glow with the flames and yeah okay, the image of a flaming goose is definitely going to stay with Crowley as one of the most demonic things he’s seen in a while. But they are fine! 

And perfectly placed for a little vengeance, something Aziraphale would never claim for himself no matter how much he deserves it.

As one they turn to face the bewildered archangels and breathe fire, Janus flapping their wings to fan the flames a little bit. The archangels stumble back and Crowley smiles at a job well down. He reaches down and picks up Janus before stepping out of the flames. 

‘As I said Gabriel,’ he says, giving one of Aziraphale’s polite little farewell waves, ‘may we meet on a better occasion.’

‘You Fell,’ Gabriel snarls with a hint of desperation. 

‘Oh we both know I haven’t,’ Crowley says as Janus laughs. ‘The heavens scream and the stars weep when an angel Falls. No, I am an angel still.’

It’s not technically a lie, at least not for Aziraphale.

‘What do you want?’ Uriel says, looking at them with wide eyes.

‘To be left alone. On Earth. No more miracle audits or your ridiculous rules about kindness,’ Crowley says as he straightens up. ‘Leave  _ us _ alone. Do I have your agreement?’

Uriel and Sandaphon nod, looking like bobble heads with the amount of nodding they’re doing. Gabriel just glares, looking like he’s bitten into a very hot chilli but doesn’t want to admit it.

‘Your  _ word, _ Gabriel,’ Crowley says as Janus starts to hiss. He steps closer to the Hellfire and raises a hand for it to dance around. ‘You will leave us alone. Heaven will leave us alone.’

‘ _ Heaven _ will leave you alone,’ Gabriel says through gritted teeth. 

‘May your word bind you,’ Crowley says and Feels it settle into reality. 

Then he turns on his heel and leaves, Janus hissing over his shoulder at the archangels the entire way out.

It’s a far better exit than the last one he made from Heaven.

*

Waiting on the bench, their agreed upon meeting spot, is the worst five minutes of Crowley’s  _ existence _ . Okay yes, he sprinted here, squawking goose held awkwardly in his arms, but surely it doesn’t take this long to get out of Hell? Hell’s not used to rebellion against them, they’ll throw Aziraphale out at the drop of a hat.

Unless something has gone wrong. Oh G- Sa-  _ Earth _ something’s gone wrong.

‘We never should have agreed to this,’ Crowley snaps, eyes on the way he came. ‘Never should have let him go into Hell.’

‘You say that like we had a choice,’ Janus says, pushing their head under Crowley’s arms until he uncrosses them and drops into a more relaxed posture. It’s nothing like how Aziraphale usually sits but if it’s gone  _ wrong _ , what does it matter?

‘We did have a choice.’

‘Not one that would’ve saved him like this,’ Janus says and damn Crowley’s daemon for being a logical voice here.

‘Oh Crowley, look!’

_ Aziraphale _ . 

It’s strange seeing his body walk with such a perfectly straight spine, and even more so to see the white snake wrapped around his neck. Aziraphale never played a serpent when he was Crowley’s daemon and something about it looks…  _ off _ .

Aziraphale sinks onto the bench beside Crowley, his posture still as perfect as ever. Right, they… they did this.

They  _ won _ . 

So why doesn’t it feel like a win?

Crowley shakes his head and checks the area for spies. Finding none, they swap back.

‘Oh that’s better,’ Aziraphale says, eyes on Janus. ‘You looked so strange by my side.’

Janus hisses even as Crowley buries the hurt Aziraphale’s latest verbal knife to the heart causes. 

Only this time Malak hisses too, biting at Aziraphale who is already frowning and shaking his head. ‘No, that was… that came out wrong. I would love to have you by my side  _ with Crowley _ . It looked so strange for you to be apart. Even though you weren’t.’

Oh. 

‘I love you,’ Crowley says before he can help himself. 

Aziraphale beams. ‘I love you too my dear. Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch? I hear a table at the Ritz just miraculously became available.’

Crowley smiles. ‘Temptation accomplished, angel.’

*

That feeling of dread, of a knife over his head, does not leave Crowley during their dinner. It retreats, sure, Crowley lured into contentment by Aziraphale’s adoring eyes, their toast and the feel of their daemons cuddled together under the table, but it doesn’t fade. Instead it sits there like a weight on his heart, something you can adjust to and ignore for a time but will always know is there.

They leave the Ritz together, walking arm in arm and slow enough that Janus can keep up, burdened as they are by a clinging snake. A few people eye off their daemons but just as many make what Crowley refuses to classify as ‘awwwww’ faces. He is  _ not _ adorable, thank you.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale breathes when the bookshop is in sight. ‘Oh. It’s still there.’

He starts to move faster, pulling away from Crowley’s grip. But he only gets a few more feet before he makes a noise of confusion and turns back. He looks vaguely outraged and is rubbing at his chest.

Beside Crowley, Malak makes a rude noise. ‘You forgot,’ they hiss as they unwrap themselves from Janus.

Janus who honks at Malak before striding towards Aziraphale. ‘We’ve only existed a few moments, you can’t blame h-’

It’s Crowley’s turn to make a strange noise as Janus reaches Aziraphale’s side - and goes, apparently, too far from his. ‘Oi!’ he calls and takes a few steps forward, just enough to get this painful tug away from his chest. It hurts but only with an almost phantom pain, the sort that says ‘I’m only a small thing  _ for now _ ’ and Crowley knows enough of pain to not want to test it.

‘We may need some practice at this,’ Aziraphale says, bending over to pick up Malak who then curls around his neck. ‘Train ourselves into our range, as it is.’

‘Like children do.’ Crowley thinks of the many children he’s observed daring another to part from their daemons. And of the times those dares went wrong of course, because it’s  _ him _ . He blinks away the screams.

‘Yes.’ Aziraphale walks to the door and holds it open. ‘Coming my dear?’

Crowley eyes the bookshop for a moment, until Janus hisses and starts forwards. Ice runs through his veins at the thought of getting too far apart, and so he follows. 

Following his soul into the bookshop of the creature that holds his heart. Almost poetic there.

Aziraphale leads them to their usual couches, a bottle of wine appearing on the table as they enter. He collapses into his chair, Malak shifting from his shoulders to the back of the couch, while Janus flaps up onto Crowley’s chair. 

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale says and Crowley pauses, not sitting down beside his daemon. ‘You’re… you’re sitting there?’

Crowley tilts his head. ‘Usually do… unless… do you… do you want to?’

Malak shuffles further up the couch, so Crowley won’t be at risk of touching them if he sits beside Aziraphale. Janus jumps to the floor in an instant, then up onto the table. 

‘Move me there,’ Malak hisses and Aziraphale obliges, putting Malak beside Janus so they can curl around another. Crowley mimics Aziraphale’s daemon by putting his arm around Aziraphale as he sits down, and Aziraphale tucks his head into Crowley’s chest just like Janus is doing with their head under Malak’s coils. 

‘Mirrors of one another,’ Crowley comments, forgetting himself enough to place a soft kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. Before he can move away, face hot with embarrassment and panic pounding in his chest, Aziraphale wriggles closer and tightens his grip.

‘We were going to talk of range,’ Aziraphale says but his voice is soft and his eyes are closing. ‘Of what to do now we are free.’

Crowley kisses Aziraphale again and closes his eyes. ‘We have eternity to do that. Can rest for a bit now.’

He slips into sleep, Aziraphale in his arms and is content.

*

Except it is  _ hard _ to break the habits of six thousand years, even with Malak and Janus around to drive in exactly how different things are now.

Crowley wakes the next morning with something soft and warm in their arms and tucks their head into its neck - not nuzzling, no matter what Janus says later - with a sigh. Then the thing in their arms  _ moves _ and Crowley… Crowley reacts like a startled snake.

‘Ah!’ they cry and squeeze tightly, trying to stop the wriggling thing from moving. Their fangs ache and they can hear Janus squawking with fear.

‘Crowley!’ the thing, no,  _ Aziraphale, _ cries, panic in his voice and a bolt of cold, stomach clenching fear shoots through them. 

Releasing Aziraphale instantly, Crowley tries to get away, to take themself  _ away _ as disgust settles into their stomach. But Aziraphale is on their legs, something Crowley only learns when they do not move with the rest of them. Flailing, Crowley falls off the couch but, with their legs still pinned, doesn’t make it off completely. They’re left dangling off the couch, half on and half off with a perfect view of Janus, who is hissing and flapping around on the table even as Malak rises like a charmed snake.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale cries again, this time lacking the panic of a moment before. Instead there’s  _ concern _ and that makes Crowley want to curl into a pile of coils and never show themself in public again. 

‘I’m okay,’ they say, ignoring how the position is sending all the blood to their head in a dizzying rush. ‘Ah. Can I have my legs?’

They lean up in time to see Aziraphale blink before his eyes widen. ‘Oh!’ He stands up, releasing Crowley’s legs.

Of course without a counterbalance, there’s nothing to stop Crowley falling off the couch completely. Their only saving grace is that they were still leaning up to see Aziraphale so instead of landing fully on his head, Crowley lands with a breath stealing thump to their back and chest.

‘Offft.’

‘Crowley!’

‘I’m fine,’ they say with a shake of their head, trying to get their legs to cooperate and get under them. ‘Are you okay? Angel, I… I’m-’

Aziraphale drops to the floor beside him and in the corner of his eye, Crowley sees Malak coil around the hissing Janus. ‘My dear, I startled you. I…’ he looks out the window, biting his lip. ‘I understand being startled by something surprising.’

He fiddles with his ring, looking down. ‘I don’t want you to leave,’ he says in a soft voice, ‘not on my behalf.’

‘I just hurt you,’ Crowley says, finally managing something of a sitting position. Janus has stopped hissing and is looking as downtrodden as a goose can manage, even as Malak manages to get themself - no, herself this morning - tangled in Janus’ feathers.

Aziraphale looks up, a heaviness in his glaze. ‘No you didn’t. You startled me, as I startled you and you were holding me uncomfortably tight but you didn’t hurt me.’ He closes his eyes and sighs. ‘I’ve done far worse to you in the last  _ week _ alone.’

Crowley reaches out a hand, running it down Aziraphale’s cheek as Janus starts to make a cooing noise at Malak. ‘Angel we could spend the next six thousand years trying to apologise for all the ways we’ve hurt another before. Or… or we can just. Go with the now.’

‘Ignore what I did to you?’

Something in Crowley’s chest cracks with the thought of Aziraphale begging for their forgiveness, even as a selfish part relishes the thought. But no, no. Crowley’s done things they’re not proud of over the centuries, a cycle of neverending apologies isn’t going to help anyone. They need…  _ They _ want to move on.

To have a future.

‘No,’ they says, looking into Aziraphale teary eyes. ‘But there’s a difference between forgiveness and self flagellation and I don’t think either of us quite know it.’

That gets a snort of laughter from Aziraphale. 

‘That's more emotionally aware then you usually are,’ Malak comments, her tongue flicking through Janus’ feathers. 

Janus shakes themself until Malak starts to slip with a hiss. ‘We’ve had six thousand years to examine ourselves. Occasionally we’ll have to get it right.’ Malak just hisses again in protest and from the way she’s coiled has tightened her grip.

But despite the fact they are literally in a serpent’s coils, Crowley can’t feel any panic from Janus. Just adoration and an overflowing love that makes them want to mirror Malak and wrap around Aziraphale just as tightly.

‘So we move on then,’ Aziraphale says, kissing Crowley’s hand which is still on Aziraphale’s cheek. 

‘Build a future together,’ Crowley agrees and leans in to kiss him.

*

It takes them far too long to stop kissing long enough to remember they have things to do. Crowley drives -  _ drives!  _ In their  _ Bentley! _ \- them to an uncrowded park which the remaining humans miraculously decide to leave. They ramble through it aimlessly until they reach a bench that both of them fall into without speaking.

‘We need to figure out range,’ Aziraphale says softly, Malak curled around his neck. ‘Train it into ourselves like the humans do.’

‘It hurts,’ Janus says from their place in Crowley’s lap. ‘Not sure any of us are much for pain.’

‘But we have to know!” Malak says, flinging herself off Aziraphale’s shoulders and onto the seat. ‘Sooner done, sooner over.’

Aziraphale nods, running a hand along Malak’s scales. ‘Come on then my dear. Easier for us to walk off.’

Crowley freezes. ‘What?’

‘For the distance? Easier for us to measure it I think.’

Right. Of course. Walk away. Leave Janus behind. 

Leave their soul behind.

Janus hisses. ‘No,’ they say. ‘No, no,  _ no! _ ’

Malak rises up as Aziraphale frowns. ‘Why not?’

‘We’ll do it,’ Crowley says, ignoring how Janus’ hissing noises increase. ‘We’ll  _ do it _ .’ 

  
They - no he, he has to be he for this - stands up and starts walking, ignoring how Janus starts waddling after him. He’ll do anything for Aziraphale, carving out his soul is nothing. Even if which step away from Janus is a weight he can barely manage to take, like knives to know he’-

‘Stop!’

Crowley freezes at Aziraphale’s cry, turning with a frown. Just in time too, Aziraphale grabs his hand and drags him back towards their bench until he meets the still waddling Janus. Janus, who flaps into his arms and bites at his ear, hissing and honking as they whack Crowley with their wings.

And Crowley can breathe again. 

‘Aziraphale?’ he asks, looking up at Aziraphale who is huffing, eyes almost glowing with anger. ‘What?’

‘You will not hurt yourself because I ask,’ Aziraphale says in a soft but dangerous voice. ‘If a part of you says no,  _ you don’t do it.  _ Do you understand? _ ’ _

Crowley nods, eyes wide. Aziraphale leads all the way back to the bench where Malak is still sitting, half raised and hissing. Crowley only just manages to get his hands out of the way before she wraps herself around Janus, soothing ruffled feathers. 

‘Stay my dears,’ Aziraphale says and marches off. He’s no more than half a dozen large steps away before he pauses, Malak jerking her head to look at him. Two more steps and Malak is making distressed noises, a third and she throws herself off the bench and starts slithering in Aziraphale’s direction.

Aziraphale manages one more step before he’s turning and  _ jogging _ back, diving for Malak the moment she’s in reach. They pause, wrapping around another until Crowley can see no sign of the white snake. 

‘Angel?’ he calls after a long minute. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Not for the faint hearted,’ Aziraphale says, raising his head. He gets up slowly and wanders back, collapsing onto the seat beside Crowley and Janus. ‘I… I don’t think we’ll need to train that into ourselves after one or two moments of forgetfulness.’

Janus honks. ‘Could’ve told you that,’ they grumble, as though they  _ had said anything before _ .

‘No you couldn’t have,’ Malak replies and the tension hanging in the air finally breaks.

They don’t get anything more done that afternoon but it’s a peaceful time. Which is why Crowley finds himself looking around as they leave, something creeping up his back as tension tries to scurry into his limbs. It feels like he has forgotten something, like he has let something slip by him and he just can’t place  _ what _ .

‘Are you alright?’ Aziraphale asks.

‘Paranoia,’ Janus says, their head swinging to and fro as they look around. ‘We’re not used to… to  _ this _ .’

‘Feels like someone should be watching,’ Crowley agrees, even though he can’t actually sense anyone. He shakes his head. ‘Come on then. Let’s do dinner.’

They feel better in the bookshop, eating the takeaway chips Aziraphale had them stop for. Yes, just a lingering paranoia. 

They’ve not missed anything.

*

‘What do his scales feel like?’ Crowley wonders that night, having retreated to his flat for a nap. Aziraphale had offered his bed right up until he realised it was covered in uncategorised books. Laughing, Crowley had headed home leaving an angel he can tell is on a  _ mission _ . Come tomorrow those books will have a home downstairs and Crowley… Crowley might be able to  _ stay _ .

So this might be their last night in this bed. Their last night to express the unspeakable thoughts to another.

‘Scales? I’m sure Malak’s scales are just like other snakes...’ Janus says, putting their head on top of Crowley’s pillow. ‘You’ve got scales, what do they feel like?’

‘Dunno. Never felt them on myself with my hands.’ Crowley frowns then adds, ‘Not the ones I have as a snake anyway.’

He runs his fingers through Janus’ feathers. ‘Do you think he’d be rough with you? Make sure you feel his fingers in your feathers?’

Janus leans into the touch. ‘I think he’d be gentle, like he was with those books. Careful fingers running through each feather, sorting them out until they’re perfect before he moves onto the next one.’ Crowley shivers at the thought and tries to mimic what Janus described.

But it doesn’t feel  _ right _ . 

‘I want to give you to him,’ Crowley gulps. ‘I want him to have you.’

Janus shifts closer. ‘I want to be given to him,’ they admit, putting their head on Crowley’s neck. ‘I want but…’

They trail off and Crowley strokes at their feathers. They want but they have no idea what it will feel like. All they have is the writings of humanity, for this thing they can barely comprehend even being  _ capable _ of, let alone having.

‘I want to hold Malak,’ Crowley says to the silent room, the weight of the words ringing in the dark room. ‘I want to give Aziraphale my soul and have him give me his in return.’

There’s no one here to judge him, no one but Janus who just shifts closer.

‘How can I want  _ more _ ?’ he says. ‘I have a  _ daemon _ now, I have Aziraphale’s  _ love _ . We have their love. ...We have so much, how can  _ we _ want more?’

‘Questions,’ Janus says with a sigh. ‘It always comes down to questions.’ Yes. They’d had Heaven until they’d asked questions.

Crowley doesn’t sleep a wink. Instead he runs his fingers through Janus’ feathers and tries not to wish they were scales instead.

*

The next day Crowley is back at the bookshop as soon as is acceptable (sun is up, that means it’s fine, right?), coffee and fancy hot chocolate in hand, while Janus carries a bag of pastries. It’s still early enough the streets are clear of people but Aziraphale opens the door before Crowley even manages to knock. 

‘Crowley,’ he says, with all the joy he said the name in the Bastille. ‘You’re here!’ At his heels, Malak hisses and wriggles in a snakey dance.

‘Couldn’t stay away.’ Crowley offers the hot chocolate as Janus does the same with their bag of pastries to Malak. ‘Ah, Janus? Might wanna take those in for her.’

‘Them,’ Malak corrects absently. ‘But feminine presenting - this gender thing really is a delight. We never realised how much relief you can feel swapping around like this, when it suits.’

Something starts to tickle on the back of Crowley’s neck. Eyes watching - they have been out here for a touch too long. ‘Come on angel, best get inside before the customers think you’re open.’

‘Oh we can’t have that!’ Aziraphale bends down and takes the bag from Janus, so close to touching them but so far that Crowley aches at the distance.

The feeling of being watched decreases once inside but Crowley can’t shake the tension in his body. He eyes their usual couches as Aziraphale and Malak settle onto them, trying to shrug off the feeling of exposure. They are in the bookshop. They are safe. They are together in the bookshop, nothing can happen here.

It is  _ safe _ .

So long as it’s not on fire. 

‘Crowley, are you two alright?’ Aziraphale is blinking in confusion, staring up at them. Beside him Malak pulls their head out of Aziraphale’s cup and Crowley has to swallow a grin at the sight of the mustache they are now wearing. 

‘I’m fine,’ Crowley says and goes to sit down.

Malak hisses in annoyance. ‘Janus?’

‘...We were remembering the fire,’ Janus says after a moment and Crowley turns to glare at his daemon. ‘Hey! Those were my first moments, I’ve a right to share.’

‘You settled here.’ There’s an edge to Aziraphale’s tone that makes Crowley’s shoulders rise. ‘You were here during the fire and you settled here.’

‘I thought you were in here.’ Crowley turns away then flinches as the move brings him into sight of the books that burned - and the candles Aziraphale still keeps in the store. ‘Of course I came in.’

Aziraphale rises, placing his hand on Crowley’s shoulder. ‘My  _ dear _ .’ He pauses, lifting Crowley's head so they’re looking another in the eyes. ‘My darling.’

Crowley shivers as warm spreads through him at Aziraphale’s words and Janus gives a soft squawk. A quick glance lets Crowley see how Malak has wrapped themselves around Janus again, their head under Janus’ this time. 

‘You’re uncomfortable here,’ Aziraphale says. ‘Should… should we go somewhere else?’

‘You promised us a nap in your room,’ Janus cuts in before Crowley has quite managed to get his voice back.

He squawks at Janus but doesn’t actually deny anything. Aziraphale’s bedroom is upstairs; away from the memories and so much more enclosed. Defendable. 

Safe.

...Fuck his paranoia. They’re  _ safe _ now. 

‘Come then,’ Aziraphale says and grabs Crowley’s hand. He leads Crowley up the stairs, slow and careful steps as they wait for their entwined daemons to follow. It takes so much longer than it would’ve taken if they’d just bent down and picked them up but Crowley… Crowley is okay with letting his soul remain entangled with Aziraphale’s. Even if it makes this walk hard.

‘Is this comfortable?’ Aziraphale waves a hand around the much improved room. Sure the books are still there but Crowley can see the bed. And there’s no dust.

A vast improvement. ‘It could be,’ Crowley says and drops onto the bed. ‘But…’

‘But?’

‘If we nap, will you stay?’

Aziraphale gulps, looking down at Malak. ‘You would want that?’

‘I would want nothing more,’ Crowley says, letting honestly flood his words. ‘But only if you do-’

‘We do,’ Malak says and flings themself onto the bed. Crowley squawks and wriggles away, just managing not to touch the flailing snake. He  _ can’t _ , not without Aziraphale’s permission. 

‘We do,’ they repeat, much more subdued. 

‘Then stay with us,’ Janus says flapping onto the increasingly crowded bed. ‘Please.’

All three of them turn to look at Aziraphale, the only one still standing. 

‘Of course my dears. Of course.’

*

It’s the best night’s sleep Crowley’s ever had.

*

It’s the worst waking Crowley’s ever had.

He wakes to a cold bed. Alone, with clear signs that Aziraphale didn’t stay long - there’s no book on the side cupboard, no drink or ruffled sheets on the side he started on. Janus has a vague memory of being disturbed at some point, but it is the half awake sort of memory that has no real timing on it. Aziraphale and Malak could have slipped out an hour ago or ten hours ago. They have no way of knowing.

‘We should talk to them,’ Janus says as Crowley tries to convince himself to go downstairs. ‘We need to do the human thing and figure ourselves out!’

‘What if it is too much? What if he leaves?’ Crowley can’t help but say - voicing his fears to Janus barely feels like voicing them at all. 

‘He loves us. They love us!’ There’s a slight mania to Janus’ declaration, like they are trying to convince themselves as much as they are Crowley. ‘They  _ said  _ so.’

‘And if they’ve changed their minds?’

Janus wriggles into Crowley’s arms and bites his nose. ‘Then we deal with that  _ then _ ,’ they say, ignoring Crowley’s outraged noises. ‘Now though, now we go downstairs and we  _ talk _ .’

Crowley hates how much his soul is right. With a sigh he snaps himself into new clothes, gathers Janus in his arms and goes downstairs. It takes him a moment - a heart pounding, terrifying moment - to hear Aziraphale moving around, to locate him in the shop.

'Crowley!' Aziraphale turns with a smile as Crowley half falls down the last step. 'Oh good you're up. Sleep well?'

'No,' Janus snaps and goes straight for Malak who is sitting on top of Aziraphale's desk. 'It was awful.'

Blinking, Aziraphale turns to Crowley. ‘Surely it wasn't that bad my dear? I know I improved the bed for last night.'

Glaring at Janus for getting him into this, Crowley sighs and looks away. ‘It was cold,’ he says. 'At least when I woke.'

'Cold? But you were covered in blankets!’

‘And you weren't there,’ Crowley snaps then bites his tongue. Literally, it hurts a touch but stops him going on and  _ upsetting  _ Aziraphale.

'Oh my dear…'

'Why did you leave?'

Azirapahle shakes his head. ‘I… I didn't think you'd miss me. Or even notice I wasn't there. And…'

'We thought you'd be uncomfortable with us watching you sleep,' Malak says, lowering their head to touch Janus who is now beside the desk. 'Didn't think you'd miss us at all.'

'I always miss you when you're not there,' Crowley admits, letting his tongue go. ‘And… and I, we don't mind you watching us sleep. It's all fine…'

Aziraphale beams, brightening the room with his smile. ‘Well that's settled then. We can stay if we like.'

Crowley nods and grins. That went better than he thought it would. Janus honks and gives him a significant stare. When he doesn't reply, Janus rolls their eyes - something Crowley has never seen a goose do before - and moves closer to Aziraphale. 

Too close. Aziraphale has to step back in order to avoid Janus touching his legs. 'Crowley?'

'Don't you dare,’ Janus snaps. ‘We have to know.’

Crowley continues to stare at his daemon even as Aziraphale calls his name. Yes that tiny conversation went well but what if this does not? What if-

_ He said he loves you _ , a voice that sounds like Janus thinks.  _ He did not settle until he knew you would always love  _ him _. _

_ Does that sound like someone who would reject you for asking? _

No. 

Right.

Crowley can do this.

‘IwantyoutotouchJanus,’ Crowley says as fast as he can, needing to get the words out before he loses his nerve. Janus honks in agreement, wandering closer to the shell-shocked Malak and confused looking Aziraphale.

‘Crowley, I don’t understand?’

Janus honks again, glaring back at Crowley. Right. Courage. Sticking place.

‘I want you to touch Janus,’ Crowley says again, this time in less of a rush. ‘I want to give you my soul angel, like I said I would.’

Aziraphale looks like Crowley just drove a knife into his heart. ‘No you don’t,’ he says softly. ‘You don’t want  _ me  _ to touch them.’ 

‘Oh.’

‘Crowley-’

‘Of course you don’t want to touch them, not when they’re me.’ Crowley’s not stupid, he knows how this goes but suddenly he’s just tired. Too tired. 

He won’t do this again.

Crowley sighs and turns, taking the cue to leave. Aziraphale is making noises but not actively stopping him and Crowley’s not really inclined to hang around to let him talk. He’s already carved Crowley’s heart out a dozen times before, Crowley is  _ allowed _ a break before he lets Aziraphale try again.

He reaches the doorway and something tugs at his bond with Janus, a brief pain that settles into his chest. He turns. Janus is still standing in the middle of the room, staring at Aziraphale with ruffled feathers. 

‘Janus-’

‘No,’ Janus says with a snarl. ‘No, we’re not running. You don’t want to and I’m not letting us do this again. Aziraphale-’

‘Please don’t go,’ Aziraphale says in a soft, devastated voice. ‘I… I don’t want you to leave.’

‘But you can’t bring yourself to touch Janus, even if I was begging.’ Crowley turns on Aziraphale and turns away again in a moment, unable to bear the tears in the angel’s eyes. 

Aziraphale sobs and Crowley closes his eyes and tries to ignore it. He doesn’t want to feel sorry for Aziraphale right now, he can’t. He must not.

‘I’m not… it’s not you-’

‘If you say it’s me after that I will scream,’ Crowley snarls and loses his battle to not look Aziraphale in the face. 

Oh Someone he’s weeping.

‘It is though,’ Aziraphale says, tears running down his face. ‘You can’t want  _ me _ to touch Janus. I’m… I’m not worthy. I’m soft and a bad angel and-’

‘You don’t get to make that choice for us!’ Janus and Crowley say in unison. 

‘I’ve loved you,’ Crowley says alone as Janus walks up to Aziraphale who does not back away, ‘for as long as the sun has shone on a free humanity. We have walked at each other’s side for millennia. I have been your  _ daemon _ for the last thousand years and you have been mine. I  _ know _ you, in a way Heaven and Hell and Humanity can only dream of. I know they’ve hurt you but angel… I know you.’

‘And you’re worthy of holding my soul. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with them.’

Aziraphale looks Crowley in the eyes, breathing heavily. Then without breaking eye contact, he lowers his hands into Janus’ feathers. 

Crowley groans, every limb relaxing in bliss. Aziraphale fingers in Janus' feathers is indescribably good, warmth running through every inch of him and curling in his own feathers. But it is more than that… Crowley feels  _ seen. _

Aziraphale is examining every part of him, seeing every inch of his soul and from the way he keeps petting, finding it good. Crowley is encased in the essence of Aziraphale, closer than even their little face swap was, and the angel  _ loves  _ him.

Crowley can never doubt again that Aziraphale loves him.

After a long moment, Aziraphale backs off, letting his hands fall from Janus' feathers and Crowley whines. ‘No, don't,’ he thinks but does not say, too much goo to manage speaking.

'Please?' Malak asks and Crowley looks down to find the snake an inch from him. He looks up and meets Aziraphale's eyes, which are eager and bright.

Aziraphale nods.

Crowley places his hand on Malak’s scales. Touching another's daemon is just as overwhelming as being touched. Crowley can feel everything of Aziraphale, can see all that it means to be the bastard of an angel he's loved for six thousand years. It is warmth, it is kindness, it is  _ knowing _ what Aziraphale is right down to his deepest atom.

Crowley's never loved the angel more than he does at this moment.

BANG

_ ding _

The slamming of the bookshop door has Crowley pulling his hands from Malak’s scales - when did he put the other one down? - and turning drunkenly towards the door. He feels off kilter, like they've downed a case of the best wine instead of given another their souls.

Okay, maybe this is better. Still making it hard to think.

'We're closed!' Aziraphale growls, letting a hint of what he is creep into his voice. ,'You are trespassing!'

'Even for me, Sunshine?'

Crowley hisses at the sound of Gabriel's voice, echoed by Janus and Malak a moment later. Aziraphale tenses up before looking down at both daemons and steeling himself. He runs a hand along Janus' feathers before storming into view of the front door.

Shivering a little, Crowley follows with both daemons at his heels. Gabriel is standing in the door, a look of extreme disgust on his face.

'What are you doing here, Gabriel?' Aziraphale asks, his hands clenched by his side. He's fallen into a fighting stance, Crowley realises, one of the ones that is more defensive than offensive. With the way Aziraphale's body is angled he's clearly protecting  _ Crowley _ .

And his daemon. But also  _ Crowley. _

'Can't an old friend just drop in for a visit?'

‘You were never a friend, let alone an old one,’ Aziraphale snaps and Malak hisses approval. Gabriel glares down at him, sniffing in disapproval.

‘Can your demon not control his… his  _ creature _ ?’ he says to Aziraphale.

For a moment Crowley frowns even as outrage floods through him in a fiery mess at the way Gabriel is addressing Malak. How  _ dare _ he call Malak a  _ creature _ , when they are clearly the best being on this planet. And why ask Aziraphale to ask Crowley to stop Mala-

Oh wait. The body swap. Right. He moves an inch closer to Malak even as he bristles at the way Gabriel is determined to ignore him. Janus waddles a few steps closer to Aziraphale, who backs up a step so no one is at risk of going out of range. Not that they could in the tight space of the bookshop, but best not to court the risk.

‘Crowley and Malak do as they please,’ Aziraphale says. ‘If you have an issue with their conduct, I ask that you write your complaint down, put it in an envelope, tear it in half, throw it away and do shut up.’ 

Janus, Malak and Crowley all laugh at the look on Gabriel’s face, the sort of look you see when someone’s eaten something sour but is trying not to make a face despite the awful taste in their mouth. His twist of anger at their laughter only makes them laugh harder.

Aziraphale is also smiling when they all finally catch their breaths. ‘Now I really don’t think you’re here for anything useless so I must insist that you leave now.’

‘This is Heaven’s property!’

‘No it’s not,’ Crowley corrects, stepping closer. Aziraphale frowns and shifts so he’s still blocking Gabriel’s access to Crowley. ‘I remember Aziraphale opening this place; he couldn’t miracle up the currency for it because of your rules so we went in as partners.’ He grins as Gabriel’s mouth drops. ‘There’s a reason it’s ‘and Co’. Aziraphale’s never been one to lie.’

‘Yes, thank you, Crowley.’ Aziraphale gently pushes him back, though Malak stays at Aziraphale’s side so Crowley can’t go more than a few steps back. ‘And with that good point I must ask you to leave my partner’s and my shop.

‘I have business with you!’ Gabriel snaps. ‘You will listen to me!’

Aziraphale puffs up and Crowley can see his wings mantling on another plain. ‘I believe you swore that Heaven is to leave me alone,’ he says in a quiet but dangerous voice. ‘Do you break your Word Gabriel?’

Thunder rings outside but Gabriel waves it aside. ‘Heaven yes, Heaven will leave you alone. I swore to it and Heaven has no business here.’

Oh no. No no  _ no _ . Crowley’s eyes open as it dawns on him what the trap here is. No!

‘But I’m not here for Heaven. I am here on  _ personal _ business. No Word to break.’

‘You’re the representative of Heaven!’ Crowley shouts, Janus’ feathers fluffing up with his fear. ‘You are always on Heaven’s business.’

Gabriel smiles as he shakes his head. ‘Not this time. This time I’m here, Aziraphale, because you are making a mockery of what it means to be an angel and that needs to be corrected.’ He looks at Janus. ‘And to do that, we need to understand how you work.’

He clicks and gloves appear on his hands. 

‘No!’ Crowley realises a moment before what he’s about to do and tries to move forward as Gabriel grabs Janus. But it’s too late; the archangel gets his hands on Crowley’s daemon and then has to let go as the goose bites him hard.

It’s still enough to knock Crowley to his knees, the feeling of strange hands on Janus even through the layers of the gloves. Fortunately - or not, really this situation is out of control - this is also the moment Crowley feels an angelic miracle behind him and an angel appears. 

Just in time to whack him on the head with a crowbar. Which would’ve also put him on the ground if he wasn’t already on his way down. A part of him thinks through the pain that it is rather lucky his bones aren’t quite certain about how hard or flexible they’re supposed to be or this corporation wouldn’t be alive anymore. He feels rough hands grab his own and tie them behind his back even as Malak hisses in outrage and he hears the shifting of their scales on the floor.

‘No! Crowley!’ Aziraphale cries, and dazed as he is Crowley opens his eyes to see the angel turn to Gabriel. __

‘Gabriel please! Leave him alone, let him go! I’ll come quietly if you leave him alone!’

‘I know you will Sunshine. Take him.’ Gabriel lunges at Janus who darts away and leaves the archangel cursing.

Crowley gathers enough of himself to focus on his daemon, who has retreated out of Gabriel’s reach. He looks at Janus and Janus looks at him. A silent look, full of every thought they’ve ever had - every thought of protection, every thought of love and Aziraphale being  _ safe _ .

It isn’t a decision, not really. They’ve seen the consequences a thousand times, but suddenly, for the first time, they understand the choice.

Separation is nothing compared to the thought that Aziraphale might be hurt.

So Janus darts back into striking distance, going right for Gabriel’s reaching hand. He bites it, getting another unangelic curse from Gabriel and goes for Aziraphale’s side. ‘No! Don’t you dare take him without me!’

The same angel that struck Crowley puts a bag over Janus and passes it to Gabriel, before grabbing Aziraphale roughly. A snap and he has rope around his hands before he is dragged kicking and crying - for Crowley, for Malak, for  _ Janus _ \- from the shop. Outside it, he begins to screech in volumes only occult beings could even think to hear which is the best acting Crowley’s ever heard from him. It does sound like he’s being separated from Janus, still in Gabriel’s hands.

Gabriel bends down in front of the now restrained and dizzy Crowley. ‘I’m going to leave you demon,’ he says with a grin, ‘leave you here for Hell to find. Once we’re done with that thing we’ll tell Hell everything and you’ll share his fate.’

Then he walks out with Janus honking in his bag.

Crowley starts to scream. Starts to scream in voices he thought he didn’t have anymore, in volumes only non-human beings can hear. Screams because he has to, because there are no words for what he is feeling.

Running through him is an agony he can barely comprehend, but somehow nothing compared to what he’s already lived. It hurts in parts of him that he didn’t think he still had, as something he’d only just found is carved out of him. Time fades as all he can focus on is the pain. The pain and the  _ absence. _

_ Janus! _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's DONE! Thank you to anyone who followed along - and SO MANY THANKS to LTRisBACK for all the betaing; and to the Ace Omens Discord for the races that got this done.
> 
> And thank you Elvendork, for your prompt, your patience with me, your ideas that grew into this fic and for your generosity that started this in the first place. I hope my fic brightens your day just a little, and that this ending is worth the wait. <3

Time returns. The pain increases, one last pulse of anger and outrage screaming in his chest and tugging at his insides and his bond inches closer to snapping under the pain-

Then it fades. Slowly. Reduces step by step as the bond that he thought was about to break stretches instead. Has been stretching all this time, he realises, but in the most painful way possible. He slowly starts to realise he is alive. He is in a human shape. He is, somehow, still there.

And he can still feel Janus. _Janus_.

It’s faint. Like a star instead of a full moon. But then, what are stars but lights too far away to see? Crowley rolls over onto his stomach and pushes himself to his knees. He’s alive.

He’s alive.

‘Aziraphale,’ he says softly and tries to stand.

‘Crowley?’ Malak says, sounding as dazed as Crowley feels.

Ice floods Crowley as he frantically scans the shop floor. _No. No no no no no. No_ way _. Aziraphale what did you do? No!_

‘Malak?’

The white serpent sticks their head out from under Aziraphale’s desk, huffing and hissing as they wriggle out from under it. ‘Crowley!’

Oh no. ‘Tell me you didn’t,’ he says, pulling at the ties around his wrist. ‘Please Malak, tell me you didn’t.’

Malak gets the rest of themself out from under the chair and rises with a glare. ‘You did. You were free and you came for us anyway! You don’t get to say anything.’

‘Angel-’

‘No. We made our choice just like you did. I was by Aziraphale’s side, his hands were free, I could have hidden if I - _we_ \- wanted to. But…’ Malak curls up a little, head lowered. ‘But we’ve done so little for you all these years, this was nothing. A sacrifice we were - are - willing to make.’

Crowley hands jolt towards Malak before he can think, only the ties around them and the distance keeping him from pulling Malak into his lap so he can hold them. But no, no he _can’t_. Not now. Not without Aziraphale.

‘Oh!’ Malak flicks their tail and the binding on Crowley’s wrists comes off, falling to the ground with a thump. Then Malak slithers over and crawls into Crowley’s lap. Crowley hesitates for a moment, before running his hands along Malak’s scales.

It is as intense as it was before, the sense of knowing Aziraphale, of feeling his love for Crowley. But mingled in with that is Aziraphale’s terror, his fear for Malak - _and Crowley and Janus!_ \- and the lingering pain of their separation. Then there is determination, a drive to get _home_ to Crowley.

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley breathes and takes his hands from Malak’s scales. Malak follows for a moment, bumping their head against Crowley’s hands for a final jolt of connection before backing off.

‘We have to rescue them,’ Malak says, pulling themselves up Crowley’s chest to wind around his shoulders.

Crowley brushes his cheek against Malak’s. ‘We do,’ he says and takes a deep breath. ‘Do you know where Aziraphale is?’

‘Do you?’ Malak replies. ‘You’ve always known before.’

‘Because I kept my eyes on you and…’ Crowley frowns as he focuses. ‘Wait, I can feel Janus. I… I can follow them-’

Malak wriggles on his shoulders. ‘Oh! Of course. I can feel Aziraphale… If they’re together we can cross reference.’ Malak freezes. ‘And if they’re not…’

Something cold drops into Crowley’s stomach at the unfinished thought. ‘Gabriel said they wanted to examine them, they _have_ to be together for that. No point taking Janus in the first place otherwise.’

Crowley closes his eyes and lets his mind settle into the place in his soul that is Janus. Lets himself feel what it means to be Janus and tries to locate it. _Please don’t be in Heaven_ , he thinks as he feels. _I’d storm the gates of Heaven for you both but please, don’t be there._

It’s not like getting a map reading, an X that screams ‘this way, I’m here’ and is easily followed. Instead it’s more emotional, a general sense of closeness and… and green?

‘They’re on Earth,’ Crowley says and Malak hisses in agreement. ‘Somewhere green?’

‘Somewhere wet,’ Malak adds. ‘Aziraphale’s shoes are soaked.’

Crowley opens his eyes. ‘Gabriel did this. Gabriel, who is cruel and petty and mean. Where would someone cruel and petty and mean take Aziraphale?’

It’s like a bolt of lightning strikes him the moment he says it. Of course Gabriel would take them there, even if it is exposed and lacking shetler. A couple of miracles and the humans would leave and Gabriel is so arrogant he wouldn’t want to go anywhere else. Without Michael’s voice of tactical reason, he _would_ pick it.

‘St James Park,’ Malak and Crowley say in unison. They share a _look_ , full of all the things they don’t need to say.

‘Right,’ Crowley says, and heads for the doorway. On the way, he catches sight of himself in one of Aziraphale’s glass door cupboards and frowns. No, not right, not for this. The white serpent around his shoulders, the black clothing, the body…

It doesn’t work. The body just doesn’t fit anymore. Crowley snaps and there. Much better. Now she looks _dangerous_ and exactly like the idea of Eve that Heaven spent verses of their big book, and a lot of their early literature, teaching humanity to hate. Fiery red hair, a well fitted black dress with shoulders Crowley doesn’t usually like wearing to keep Malak off bare skin and fabulous fishnets.

All this topped off by a beautiful white serpent wrapped around her neck, grinning a snakey smile as they show off their fangs

Yes. Perfect. Crowley is facing Heaven as the witch she is now - which she will deal with later, no time to think - and she is going to throw what they have done to her in their _faces_.

‘You look beautiful,’ Malak hisses in her ear. ‘And dangerous.’ They meet Crowley’s eyes in the door. ‘Heaven don’t know what’s coming for them.’

‘Let’s bring it to them then,’ Crowley says and they storm out for the Bentley.

*

St James Park has never been a long drive from the bookshop but today it feels like an eternity before they’re pulling up to the outskirts of the large park. It’s deserted, the streets around eerily empty of cars.

‘You feel that too?’ Malak asks from Aziraphale’s seat, poking their head up so they can look through the windscreen.

Crowley grimaces. ‘Yeah, some strong wards on it. Blaring ‘KEEP OUT HUMANS AND DEMONS’ sign. Worse than Heaven.’

Malak wriggles their way onto the dashboard and across to Crowley, so they can look her in the eyes. ‘Do you really think we count as either of those?’

‘Ah-’ Crowley pauses and thinks. ‘Okay, definitely not human. I’m still one of the Fallen though Malak, nothing will take that from me.’

‘You have a daemon,’ Malak says simply and puts their head into Crowley’s hand, still on the wheel. ‘And you are a witch, by sacrifice.’

‘And by cruelty.’ Crowley closes her eyes as the feelings sweep through her again. ‘A witch twice over.’

‘Heaven can’t stop us now.’ Malak lifts their head and grins. ‘Cause we’re having a good time-’

Crowley has to laugh, a noise that feels out of place in the seriousness that is this situation. ‘I knew you were listening to the music.’

‘You play it enough, we picked up a thing or two.’ Malak slithers up Crowley’s arm, settling on her shoulders. ‘Now, come on. We’ve a rescue to execute!’

Grinning, Crowley gets out of the car and marches towards the boundary of the park. There is a moment where something tingles around her, a slight sense of being in the wrong place and going the wrong way, but it only lasts a second before she is through and into the park. The wards seal behind her, as if they’d never been distrubed.

‘Huh,’ Crowley says as she examines them. ‘That was almost too easy. Did you feel-?

‘A tingle, then nothing as we passed through. More than I should’ve, for something that never targeted angels,’ Malak says.

Crowley nods and files that away. Something to explore _later_. Right now, they have to find Aziraphale, figure out what they’re up against, plan a rescue, and execute it.

No big deal, right?

*

Okay, something of a big deal. St James is a large enough park that searching it is not something done lightly. It doesn’t help that there’s no one around, so no humans to cover Crowley and her movements. If the angels see her before she sees them, everyone is a lot more screwed than they were before.

‘You could shift,’ Malak suggests as they hide behind one of the bushes near the entrance and think. ‘I doubt they’d notice two snakes in this place, probably think it was natural. They’ve left the ducks.’

‘And how much ground do you think we can cover as two snakes? I’m fast but this is a large park and we really shouldn’t split up.’ Crowley glances over the bush and yes, still clear. ‘Don’t split the household. No, that’s not right.’

‘Party dear,’ Malak says and Crowley raises an eyebrow as she looks at them. ‘The lovely uni students let Aziraphale join in their Oubliette and Wyverns game sometimes.’

‘Dungeons and Dragons, Angel,’ Crowley sighs then freezes. Oh. Oh that had felt so _natural,_ so _right_.

Malak goes pink, tucking their head under their body. ‘I like that,’ they whisper and no. No, Crowley, _no_. Not the time.

‘We need to be smart about this,’ Crowley says, pulling her mind from thoughts she never thought she would be able to have. ‘Clever, like Aziraphale. Where would Gabriel take him in this place?’

‘Somewhere he knew would hurt,’ Malak says, bringing their head out a little. ‘Somewhere they knew had meaning but also somewhere with space to work.’ They pause, head tilting. ‘Crowley, Heaven knew about us before Tadfield, had surveillance… If they know about us, they’d know where we like to go. You… you don’t think…?’

‘Our bench,’ Crowley confirms, anger blazing red hot through her. ‘If he knows anything about us, he’d take Aziraphale to our bench.’

Putting a hand to his chest, Crowley senses in the direction of their favoured bench, the one they’ve met at a thousand times before. It takes a moment but _yes_ , three angels and two… two _beings_ , occult and ethereal and somehow neither.

And a warmth in his heart, a connection in his soul. _Janus_.

‘Three angels and them,’ Crowley reports. ‘Janus isn’t… isn’t worried yet? Gabriel must be talking.’

‘We’ve ages then,’ Malak says, eyes flashing. ‘Azirpahale’s mad.’

‘Why hasn’t he just left?’ Crowley wonders. She’s not allowing herself to think about the gathering...something in her energies, the way the world seems brighter and more welcoming than ever - _no_ this is not the time, they don’t have time, she can’t. She has to save Aziraphale. But…

‘We just proved Heaven shouldn't be able to hold him, not not now.' Crowkey looks at Malak with confusion. ‘Why hasn't he left?’

Malak sighs and burrows into Crowley's side, careful not to touch bare skin. Though even this is distracting, a feeling of closeness to Aziraphale that Crowkey cannot shake.

‘They threatened you,’ Malak says quietly. ‘Threatened to hurt you and they have Janus so they _can_ **_._ **We will never act as long as you are in danger. We can't…’

‘Malak-’

‘We have made it a habit, over six thousand years, to not act while you are in danger from Heaven and Hell. Breaking that when Janus is in Heaven's hands… no no, there's a reason Aziraphale hasn't acted if he's even aware he can.' Malak frowns and rises up. ‘Would he know?'

Maybe not. But showing he can has to be a part of their plan.

'We need a plan,’ Crowley says as she eyes the direction the bench is in. 'And distractions once we get there.'

‘What do you have in mind?'

Crowley looks over at the duck pond just in sight, where a group of birds have already spotted her and are eagerly watching her. 'I have a couple of ideas…'

*

Gabriel does have Aziraphale on their bench, hands tied first behind his back then through the railings of the bench. Janus is not in sight but there is a bag holding something that is flapping on the other side of the path, at a distance that would hurt if they still had to worry about range. Between them is Gabriel, in full lecture mode though Crowley is too far away to hear, while the two angels are standing a short distance away by the duck pond. Close enough to hear if called and see, not close enough to hear Gabriel unless he projects.

Right. First,the distraction. Three on two is bad odds, Crowley has to change that.

'I have it!'

'Oh?' Crowley asks as she turns to look at the snake slithering towards her. Malak stops when they're close and rises up, eyes appealing like Aziraphale's do when he wants a miracle done.

Criwley picks them up and drapes them over her shoulders, trying not to let herself soak in the closeness this brings.

'Three loaves of the good bread daily for a season and they'll do it. For five they'll chase them out of the park altogether.'

Making a considering noise, Crowley pats Malak's head. ‘That is a good deal,’ she says and smiles at the snake. ‘Better than some of mine.’

Malak goes pink again, a pleasing color even if Crowley has the suspicion snakes don't normally blush - even snake daemons.

'It wasn't that hard. They like us, for our bread, and they do not like Gabriel. He blasted a few ducks that wandered over to see why Janus was honking.'

Ice goes though Crowley's veins. ‘Did he hurt any?’

‘No, but they're not impressed with him. Quite happy to chase him out of here too, free of charge.'

Crowley smiles and nods. ‘We'll keep that in mind. What signal did you agree to?’

‘Airhorn. They know it from loud children and it's audible everywhere.’

Crowley nods. ‘Are we ready?’

‘As we'll ever be.’

*

There really isn't much of a plan. Crowley has to admit to that. There is little more than hope and some cunning thoughts that might turn into a plan but could also backfire spectacularly. With actual fire.

But then, Crowley's never been the best at pulling off complicated plans. Coming up with them yes, but follow through has usually needed Aziraphale, either as moral support (and charm, such as his work on the M25 bribery) or as the action when the plan falls to bits (see the apocalypse) that forces Crowley to improvise to avoid disappointing him.

So this will work.

It _has_ to work.

Crowley can't… no. It will work.

*

The airhorn blazes through the silence of the park, a beacon of noise that sets off every bird in sight. Crowley watches from her vantage point just out of sight of the bench as the flock of distressed ducks descends on the two angels. They try valiantly to fight the birds off for a moment, before one clever and rather large bird grabs the sword of one angel and flaps off.

The ducks all pause to watch as the angel curses and chases after the duck before five more go for the second angel's sword. That one manges to fend off three but two do manage to grab the sword’s hilt and, though struggling with the weight, lift it up and away. The second angel curses and chases after them, followed by the rest of the flock.

'Just blast them!' Gabriel calls, looking around like he's searching for something. ‘They've clearly been infected by something!’ He breathes out and says in a quieter voice. ‘Demonic birds.'

‘I do wish I could claim credit for them,’ Crowley says as she walks out of hiding, Malak on her shoulders, and towards Gabriel. ‘But they've always had their own minds. Geese too, now those birds are properly chaotic. Nearly demonic with it.'

'So you admit this thing has a demonic daemon.' Gabriel sneers and holds out his sword, far too close to Aziraphale who Crowley can see is now gagged. Crowley stops moving forward, but does snap, throwing up wards that will stop the other two angels getting close to them. Malak shakes their tail a second later, adding to them.

'Demonic wards are easily broken,' Gabriel snaps, the sword in his hand shaking a little. ‘And you and this disgrace are trapped in this pathetic place. Do you ready think you can do anything to me? I am the Archangel Gabriel.'

'And I am Aziraphale's lover, the Serpent of Eden, Tempter of Eve, the witch Crowley, formerly a demon of Hell.’

‘What?’

‘Oh we aren't just listing titles in a pointless game of trying to one up another?' Crowley smiles, a dangerous grin, ‘I won by the way. No title you have can beat my first and best.'

‘Serpent of Eden?’

Crowley frowns. ‘No didn't list that first. Aziraphale's lover. Best thing to be on this Earth, especially when he loves you back.’

‘Demons don't love.’

‘I do. Whether that makes me a bad demon or your knowledge incomplete is up to you.’

Shouts come from behind Gabriel and both of them turn slightly to see the two angels running back, both soaked, swordless and covered in duck droppings. The flock of ducks is hovering just behind them, not chasing but also not going away. They do not have the swords though Crowley can guess where they might have ended up, judging by the state of the angels.

Did no one in Heaven know how to deal with a little pond water?

‘You are such a stupid demon,’ Gabriel snarls. ‘Do you really think your wards are a match for the power of Heaven? Even with your… your _peculiarities_ , i doubt you alone are a match for three of us.’

‘One.’

Gabriel blinks. ‘And you can’t count. One,’ he points at himself, ‘two, three,’ he points at the other angels who are eyeing off the wards. ‘Outnumbered.’

Malak rears up a little. ‘Tell your angelssss to sssstay away,’ they hiss, emphasising in a way Crowley’s not heard them do since the day they settled. ‘We don’t want to hurt anyone but we are going to protect ourssssselvesss and Aziraphale. The wardssss have a…’ Malak pauses, then strikes forward, making Gabriel dance two steps back despite their distance. ‘Bite,’ Malak finishes.

Crowley tries not to look like this is news to her. Oh her bastard of an angel, what did Malak _do?_

One angel gathers themselves up and throws themselves at the ward. A moment later they scream, backing off as they try to put the fire on their robes out. The ducks let them pass as they throw themselves into the duck pond and come out looking like something close to a drowned rat.

‘Firssst warning,’ Malak says, fangs out as they curl back into a striking position. ‘We don’t really feel like giving any more.’

Crowley looks to Aziraphale and can see how his eyes are _blazing_ with righteous anger. Her heart aches for the anger her gentle angel must be feeling to be so much of a bastard, even to those who rightly deserve it. Aziraphale has never been one to give into anger unless…

Oh. Unless Crowley was in danger. Right.

‘You really think you can do _anything_ right now? You are a _demon_ and no matter what your wards are, you are still facing _me_.’ Gabriel draws himself up to his full height, chest out in a way that he probably thinks makes him look important but actually makes him look ridiculous. ‘I am th-’

‘Archangel Fucking Gabriel. Aziraphale mentioned.’ Crowley yawns and takes a step to the right. Gabriel mirrors it, his step to the left taking him away from Aziraphale. Closer to Janus but that’s fine, he’s away from _Aziraphale._

From the way Aziraphale is moaning and fidgeting and from how Malak keeps hissing angrily in Crowley’s ear, they do not agree. Well that’s for them - Crowley has to get Aziraphale to realise he’s not powerless here and if that means putting herself into more danger then _so be it_.

‘What are you even hoping to accomplish here? You broke your Word. Angels Fell for less than back in the War.’ Crowley takes another step and yes, mirrored by Gabriel. Four more and she’ll be between Gabriel and Aziraphale, able to get to Aziraphale in one go.

Gabriel looks taken aback. Literally, moves his head back and everything. ‘I did not. I gave my Word that Heaven would leave you both alone. Not my fault your pal here was too stupid to get another Word that _I_ would leave _him_ alone.’ He smiles that awful smug grin. ‘I’ve kept my Word twice over.’

‘Loophole abuse is against the spirit of Vows,’ Crowley snaps, fire running through her veins. Oh she is an _idiot_ , she forgot everything she and Aziraphale agreed he was going to do in Hell; no crystal clear, loophole free Vow for Hell. Of course Heaven - and Gabriel - are using loophole abuses, though she’s very sure that Michael and the other archangels don’t know about this.

For one thing, there would be more of them here if they did. And if Michael so much as knew about it, it would be better planned and Crowley would not have been left in the bookshop alone.

Or alive.

Small mercies.

‘I am not abusing loopholes,’ Gabriel snaps back. ‘I am merely looking for optimal understandings.’

Crowley has to roll her eyes. ‘Oh no, don’t use corporate speak on me. I invented that.’

Gabriel frowned. ‘Aziraphale delivered that to humanity, after we had some workshops and fine tuning.’

Laughing, Crowley shakes her head. ‘Oh no, that rubbish you sent down lasted two days before some human threw it out. We decided to work on it together, since you’d asked for it so specifically.’

Gabriel growls, an inarticulate noise of anger.

Ooh. Sore spot. Time to poke it.

‘Aziraphale did take some of the things you used in Heaven for it but humanity’s… well it was a collaborative effort,’ Crowley says, flashing her fangs and taking another two steps, instantly mirrored by Gabriel who raises his sword.

‘I am going to _enjoy_ killing you,’ Gabriel hisses, ‘Doing my duty will never be as pleasurable as the moment I run you through before we tear your angel apart in the name of progress.’

He looks over at Aziraphale and frowns. Oh no. No, he can’t notice, she only has two more steps.

‘Progress?’ Crowely screams, trying to draw his attention back to her. ‘The death of an angel, of one of your _own_ is _progress_? I thought Heaven were supposed to be the good guys!’

It works, Gabriel’s attention snaps to her, taking his eyes off Aziraphale. Yes. Thank Somebody.

‘Crowley _no,_ ’ Malak hisses in her ear but she ignores them. They squeeze her tightly for a moment but otherwise don’t undermine her plans. Yes. Good.

‘We are the good guys! What do _you_ know about good?’

Crowley growls. ‘I’ve seen the blood on Heaven’s hands; don’t you lecture me about good. At least Hell doesn’t pretend at virtue, for all it’s just as bad as your lot.’ She shakes her head. ‘And now you call murder progress.’

Gabriel sniffs, an arrogant noise as he lifts his head. ‘It is not murder, it’s understanding. What is that human term for it? Oh...science or something. We need to figure out what makes Aziraphale immune to Hellfire, so we’ll have a secret weapon for the End of Days. If I figure it out, I’ll be the hero,’ he says in a _duh_ tone of voice.

Crowley wants to throttle him, wants to sink her fangs into him and wrap her coils around him until the breath leaves his corporation and her angel is _safe_. But that would mean leaving Aziraphale tied up. Leaving him defenceless if Gabriel proves a faster strike with that sword than she is with her fangs.

Not an option.

She swallows down her rage until it is flames under her skin and takes another step. One more, one more and it’s a sprint to Aziraphale that she’ll win.

‘The only difference is our daemons,’ she says, her eyes on Gabriel as Malak slides down so they’re gripping her stomach instead of her shoulders. ‘If that’s what it takes, would you sully yourself with humanity’s gift?’

Gabriel sneers, making a jerking move with his sword. It’s a good thing he’s just too far away to touch her with it, that was almost a strike.

‘Like I would need to lower myself to wallow in humanity’s _curse_.’

Crowley blinks. ‘Wait, what?’

‘Oh don’t play dumb. You’re the one that got them cursed with those creatures. Do you know how much _work_ I had to do to make them hate them?’ Gabriel makes a face that reads ‘duh’ and Crowley’s desire to punch him in the nose creeps higher than she thought possible.

‘Humanity had daemons before me,’ Crowley says frowning. ‘Their curse was to be by their side and settle, not to have them to begin with…’

Aziraphale moans and Gabriel’s attention snaps to him.

And then to Crowley, far too close for comfort.

_Shit_. Crowley got caught up in theology and questions, she has left Aziraphale vulnerable.

Giving up all attempts at subtlety, Crowley turns and sprints for Aziraphale’s bench, throwing herself over him as she pulls at the ropes on his hands. Touching them confirms her suspicion that they are miracle proof but clearly Gabriel or his angels have never had to tie actual knots in their lives. These ones may hold onto a struggling angel but there’s not a lot of complexity, so all it takes is a few tugs in the right places and the ties are falling off Aziraphale’s wrists.

‘Angel!’ she cries, pulling at his gag as Aziraphale lifts his hands to do the same.

‘Crowley, _Janus_ ,’ her angel says the moment they get the gag out of his mouth and she turns to see what has the absolute terror in his eyes.

Gabriel is holding Janus’ bag aloft, sword pointed at it.

Crowley freezes.

‘Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but if you kill one of the human’s little daemons, it kills them as well.’ There’s a long moment of silence before Gabriel shakes his sword at the bag. ‘Am I _wrong?_ ’

‘No, you’re not,’ Crowley gets out. Malak drops into Aziraphale’s lap, coiling up as a snake about to strike. Aziraphale runs his hands over Malak, his movements fast and desperate, as his eyes stay on Gabriel.

Gabriel smirks. ‘So even if you’ve managed to free that traitor there, by having this thing I still have him. Right?’

Oh no. No, no, _no_.

‘We don’t know we’re the same as humans,’ Crowley lies. ‘No telling if that’s how it works for us.’

‘Ah, but you claim to _love_ him. Are you willing to take that chance?’

No.

No Crowley isn’t. Wouldn’t be.

But Gabriel doesn’t have Malak. He has _Janus_. She loves Janus fiercely, loves them like she never thought she could love a piece of herself. They are everything even slightly likeable about her, the best parts of her in one being.

But she has never loved herself more than she’s loved Aziraphale.

How is she meant to give up one to save the other?

‘Gabriel-’ Aziraphale starts to say, Malak dropping onto the ground as he half rises.

‘Stop!’ Gabriel shouts, pointing his sword at Aziraphale. ‘I don’t want to hear it. Come to me now, Aziraphale, and let him come _demon_. Now!’

Crowley shakes her head. ‘I… I-’

‘Do you need encouragement?’ Gabriel snaps with the hand holding the sword and the bag starts to float. A second snap with his now free hand and Crowley feels… feels constricted, restrained. Her beak has _something_ on it and it _hurts_ …

Oh what is he _doing_ to Janus?

Gabriel gives them one last triumphant look before opening the bag with his free hand and…

And _reaches in_ . Reaches in with his _bare_ hand.

Crowley’s chest tightens a moment before it happens, her heart pounding in the instant between Gabriel reaching in and him grabbing the now wheezing Janus. Time freezes but also speeds up and she’s left helpless to do anything but watch as he touches her daemon.

She screams.

Falls to the ground as her knees give out, the very sense of herself failing as Gabriel squeezes her daemon. His anger fills her, his outrage at being outwitted combining with his delight at finding a way to win - tempered with a touch of satisfaction at the thought of causing Aziraphale pain, of getting back at the angel who _dared_ to be better than him without even bothering to be a proper angel about it.

That fades as Crowley continues to scream and Gabriel, though slow witted, starts to get a clue that something is wrong here.

It’s at that moment Malak makes their move.

‘Ah!’ Gabriel cries and drops the bag, stumbling back. Crowley raises her eyes, blinking and fuzzy, to see a flash of white at Gabriel’s feet, wriggling towards Janus.

‘Malak?’ she says softly. ‘What?’

Beside her she hears Aziraphale snap and feels the miracle as it disintegrates the bag Janus is in. Crowely lays eyes on her daemon for the first time since they were separated.

And they’re _okay_.

In one piece, though their wings are bound to their side and there is silver masking tape holding their beak shut. Crowley has to stare at Janus, has to drink in the sight of her daemon _alive_ and _unhurt_ even as every part of her screams at her to go to them, to take them in her arms and hold them until they forget Gabriel’s name, let alone that he dared to touch them.

Janus gives a muffled honk and takes a few steps towards her.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ Gabriel cries and tries to lunge at Janus. Malak however, is far faster than Gabriel could ever hope to be and Crowley watches in amazement as they sink their fangs into Gabriel.

Oh. Sink their fangs in _again_.

Malak shakes their tail and Janus’ bindings fall off, at least enough so that they can open their beak and move their wings. Janus honks gratefully before dodging out of reach of Gabriel’s next lunge with a move that whacks him in the face with both wings while avoiding his touch.

There’s a phantom sense of him from Janus’ wings, but nothing Crowley can’t bury in the face of her memories. ‘Janus, Malak!’

‘Got them!’ Janus gives Gabriel a final bite to the most sensitive area they can before waddling to Malak’s side and grabbing the snake in their beak. It takes a few more flaps than usual to get airborne, but they manage to cross the distance to Crowley and Aziraphale.

Malak is barely clear before Crowley is pulling Janus into her lap, running her hands over their feathers and trying to erase the sense memory of being touched. Janus, for their part, rubs themselves against Crowley, preens at her hair and is just generally as touch crazy as she is. She can feel Aziraphale’s warm hand on her shoulder, a steadying feeling, as she tries to comfort her daemon.

‘So this is surprising,’ Gabriel says, his voice strained as he manages to stand. ‘Because I know a bit about this business of human’s daemons and I know what it means to touch them and I am. Not. STUPID!’

‘News to me,’ Crowley gets out, trying to rise on wobbly knees. Aziraphale moves his hand to her side, bracing her weight so she doesn’t fall down. His grip is tight and she can feel how he is trembling.

‘And me,’ Aziraphale says, Malak hissing in agreement. Janus is still in her arms and they give a feeble honk, any fight they had gone now they’re with her.

But that’s okay. She can fight enough for the both of them, even if her limbs feel like she’s shifted into a snake without noticing.

‘You two,’ Gabriel takes a step forward and Aziraphale’s glowing white wings fill Crowley’s sight, his body curling around her as he - _he_ \- hisses with anger.

‘Do not take another step Gabriel,’ Aziraphale says in a low and dangerous voice. ‘You’ve unleashed forces on this Earth you do not understand and I give you this one chance to _back off_.’

Janus honks in annoyance at not being able to see and Aziraphale, mind reader he sometimes is, lowers his wings a little so Crowley can peek over them. Gabriel has picked up his sword but is looking a little like Aziraphale just punched him in the face instead of warning him off. It’s a good look on him, the dumbfounded look just goes great with his everything.

‘You were not the Aziraphale in Heaven.’ Gabriel’s voice is flat but his eyes blare with purple fire. ‘The Aziraphale in Heaven had the goose and the Crowley in Hell had the snake. Michael confirmed that for us. But it was a trick, wasn’t it?’ Something creeps into his eyes as he starts to smile. ‘A lie because you needed to save your own skins instead of facing punishment like a _good_ angel and demon.’

Crowley sniffs. ‘I have never, in my existence, been a _good_ demon.’

‘Exactly,’ Gabriel says and snaps.

A bucket appears above them, giving Crowley one moment to think _oh fuck_ before it tilts and dumps it’s contents on them both. Aziraphale tries to move his wings in time but while he’s able to keep the main volume of water off Crowley, some drops trickle through.

And one drop is all it takes to kill a demon.

As Crowley stands there, vaguely damp with a honking and flapping Janus in her arms, she finds herself struggling to think.

On the one hand, not dead. Good thing, though from the way Aziraphale is shaking her and half sobbing with relief, he hasn’t managed to put a lot of the pieces together yet.

On the other, Crowley’s been a demon for six _thousand_ years and well. It’s been a major part of her identity for most of that time. A girl has to take a moment to adjust.

‘What. The. _Fuck?_ ’ Gabriel snarls and okay, no time to adjust. Existential crisis later, Archangel to defeat now.

Outside the wards she vaguely registers the other two angels swearing and backing away, their leaving encouraged by a large flock of very aggressive birds who have clearly just gotten a second wind. But that’s not really important, except to note she can drop the wards safely once Gabriel’s dealt with, as she watches him stumble backwards, sword still in hand.

‘I warned you,’ Aziraphale says, hand flexing at his side, looking for a sword Crowley knows he never regretted giving away.

‘We warned you,’ Crowley says and lets Janus hop onto her shoulder as her own wings fan out, folded in slightly so they don’t get in Aziraphale’s way. ‘Now, for the final time, Word Breaker. _Leave_ and _never_ return.’

There’s power in her voice, she can feel it and from the way Aziraphale, who is still standing at her side, drops his hand to grab hers, he can feel it too. Grabbing her hand, however, seems to open up a conduit. Like flicking on a light switch but instead it combines the power of witches.

_Our sides will never be able to touch us again_ , Crowley realises. _We’re really free_.

_Their sides my dear_ , Aziraphale whispers in her mind, the feeling as intimate as holding his daemon had been. _We are, forever_ , _our own side_.

‘You cannot make me,’ Gabriel snarls.

Crowley lets herself go, falls into the power that she’s been ignoring and pretending is exactly like it was before since the moment she realised what had happened. It sweeps through her with little guidance, feeling more like holding onto a runaway horse she’s managed to point in the right direction than anything. Beside her she can feel Aziraphale’s power gathering too.

They could wipe Gabriel off the planet with this.

Could make sure he never existed.

Could _hurt_ him, like he _hurt_ Aziraphale.

_Yes,_ Janus thinks, _but what would Aziraphale do?_

_Hurt him_ , Aziraphale snaps. _He_ hurt _Crowley_.

Malak hisses in their minds. _Bad choice Janus. How about this? What’s the worst thing to face Gabriel, worse than death?_

_Oh_ , they think as one. _Yes_.

_To be ignored_.

Crowely points her power in the direction of illusion, guides her still runaway horse towards a thought or two and lets it go. Aziraphale provides the brute force, the stick needed to make this work while Malak and Janus each add their own little nasties to the mix, putting in power from Heaven and Hell in a way that both excites and terrifies Crowley.

And then, staring at a frozen Gabriel, they cast their spell.

A crowbar appears in Aziraphale’s hand.

Everyone blinks at it, even Gabriel, before he starts to laugh. ‘All that show and _that’s_ it. Oh Sunshine, you really are all form and no performance.’

Crowley frowns as she lets go of Aziraphale’s hand. ‘That doesn’t even make sense!’

Gabriel rolls his eyes and storms forward, sword in hand. Aziraphale steps forward as well, meeting Gabriel's swing with the crowbar.

The sword shatters.

Stumbling back, Gabriel looks at them with wide eyes. ‘That’s an unbreakable sword!’ he snarls, clearly not looking at the broken pieces of it on the ground. ‘One of Heaven’s best!’

Aziraphale raises his crowbar and Gabriel stumbles back a few more steps. But he is not fast enough for an enraged Aziraphale, who gives him a solid whack to the head, the kind that would discorporate a lesser angel just on principle. Gabriel’s made of sterner stuff so he stays in one piece but drops to the ground, clutching his head and groaning.

Crowley _feels_ the magic in the air, their combined powers of Hell, Heaven and something new that must be them, settling onto Gabriel. It weaves into the world, takes up a place in the thoughts and minds of beings and begins to reshape reality.

Gabriel, for all his buster, is not completely stupid. His eyes cross as he looks around with widening eyes. ‘What did you do?’

‘What you deserved,’ Aziraphale says bluntly and vanishes the crowbar. It’s work is done. ‘It’s over Gabriel, you’ve _lost_ . Now _leave.’_

‘Before we make you,’ Malak adds with a dangerous hiss.

‘I’ve not lost anything,’ Gabriel snaps and tries to rise, his legs clearly not getting the memo as they collapse under him. ‘A little knock on the head won’t defeat me.’

‘S’not just a knock,’ Crowley says as she scoops up Janus and walks the long steps towards Gabriel. ‘It’s a spell.’

‘Your demonic magics are no match for me. I’m the Archa-’

Crowley waves a hand, summoning the power now racing through her, and Gabriel shuts up. He keeps moving his mouth, but uselessly, no sound coming out.

‘Much better. You might be a fucking angel, but we’re _not_. Neither of us.’ Crowley clutches Janus tighter as Malak hisses. ‘Not after what you did.’

Gabriel looks blank and Aziraphale sighs. ‘You never did read the memos. Three ways to make a witch Gabriel. By cruelty, by accident and by sacrifice. You forced us into the third by making us go through the first.’

More blinking as Gabriel’s eyes dart from Janus to Malak with a raised, and somehow angry, eyebrow. Crowley’s got no clue what he’s trying to say here and isn’t really inclined to figure it out.

Aziraphale, as always, is more empathetic. ‘Yes, even with the lie. I was separated the moment your thugs took me from the bookshop, regardless of which daemon was actually mine. My choice was in not trying to resist it, in not having Malak come with me. Crowley’s was in letting Janus go without her.’

He bends down, grabbing Gabriel’s chin. ‘So now you are going to go back to Heaven and tell them all about this. And then they are going to thank you for the information and it will be the last time anyone ever listens to you.’

Gabriel tries to wriggle away but Aziraphale’s grip is tight. Crowley leans over his shoulder, to smile in Gabriel’s face.

‘No one, from the smallest cherub to the mightest Archangel is going to listen to you. They’ll thank you for your thoughts in that most _sincere_ way - I’m sure you know what I mean by that - and then they’re going to forget they came from you. Most of them will be ignored, because you’ve never had a good idea in your life but the ones they don’t, well… it won’t be _your_ idea. It’ll be _theirs_.’

Crowley lets a touch of the serpent into her face. ‘You’re going to be ignored, jusssst like you did to Azzziraphale all thossse yearssss. No credit, no fame. No _power_. Jusssst honesssst ssservice for your Sssssside.’

‘And surely you can’t find something wrong with that,’ Janus snarls, grinding their beak like they want to have another bite of Gabriel. ‘Not for one of the _good_ guys.’

‘After all,’ Malak says, grinning a snake’s grin, ‘Pride goes before the _Fall_.’

Crowley snaps, so Gabriel can talk again. ‘You’re _lying_ ,’ he croaks out, voice hoarse.

Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s hand, gripping it tightly as their new power swirls around them. ‘Let’s see if we are,’ he says, and they snap.

Gabriel vanishes in a blink, headed straight for the nastiest part of Heaven they can think of for him. Heaven’s soup kitchen* is about to get a nasty surprise with this first visit from a non-Aziraphale angel.

Aziraphale doesn't drop Crowley’s hand, instead using it to pull her into his arms, Janus and Malak held between them for a breathtaking moment of closeness. Then both daemons wriggle free and drop to the ground, wrapping themselves around another in a tangle of goose and snake.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale whispers into her shoulder, the fabric already damp. ‘You’re okay.’

‘ _You’re_ okay,’ Crowley growls back, clutching to him tightly. ‘I’m not the one who was taken.’

‘You are the one who was touched,’ Azirpahale says quietly and yeah, maybe, but Crowley’s not touching that with a ten-foot pole right now.

Not when there are other things to do. She lets go of Aziraphale, just enough, so that she can stare at his face. ‘What were you _thinking_?’ she snarls.

‘Same as you, I know.’ Azirapahle snaps back, his grip bruisingly tight. ‘Just because you didn’t see me make it, doesn’t mean I didn’t make it.’

‘You’re fighting about who loves the other more,’ Malak notes from their position under Janus. ‘Arguing over who should have protected who.’

‘Again.’

Crowley lets her head fall onto his chest. ‘You were gone,’ she says softly. ‘They took you and you were gone.’

‘You came for me,’ Aziraphale replies, kissing the top of her head. ‘You came for me.’

‘Course I did.’ Crowley lifts her head, so she’s looking him in the eyes. ‘You’re _mine_. I’ve been coming for you since Eden, even if I didn’t know it then. This… this is nothing. Your side is my place, I’m not letting anyone-’

‘Even me.’

‘- _anyone_ ,’ Crowley continues as if Aziraphale hadn’t spoken and Malak hadn’t whacked him - and her - with their tail, ‘take me away from it.’

Aziraphale smiles, eyes glowing with delight. ‘And I… oh what is it the humans say? Ah yes. My meal is your meal, my home is your home, my life is your life, my heart is your heart,’ he grabs Crowley’s hand and lowers it down, until she’s touching Malak’s raised head,‘and my daemon is your daemon.’

Crowley shivers in delight, caught between the feeling of Aziraphale’s _daemon_ , still as overwhelming as before, and the equally overwhelming thought that Aziraphale just quoted _wedding vows_ at her. Sure the daemon touching isn’t traditional but the ‘my daemon is your daemon’ definitely is, at least for the matches where love not business were the reason for the wedding.

Janus honks and hovers on the other side of them, their head as close to Aziraphale’s hand as it can be without touching. They honk again, getting Crowley’s foggy brain to think.

Sort of. ‘My everything is your everything,’ she mutters, trying to get as close to Aziraphale as she can. She’s holding his essence but she wants to hold him like only a snake can, tight and close. ‘My heart is your heart, and my daemon has always been your daemon.’

Janus takes the cue and pushes his head into Aziraphale’s hand.

It’s perfect.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s… it’s _everything_.

Crowley can feel all of Aziraphale, just as Aziraphale can feel all of her. She knows all his fears and hopes and self, just as he does hers, and they can feel another feel each other and then feel the reaction to that…

Janus and Malak eventually back off, breaking the positive feedback loop. Aziraphale makes a noise of protest while Crowley’s legs decide they prefer being a tail and cease working, with only Aziraphale’s wobbly move to catch her and her own determination keeping her both human and upright.

‘Urgk,’ she says, looking around. The park is still deserted, though she can feel that Gabriel’s wards are gone, even if hers and Malak’s aren’t. The ducks are lined up in the pond, with eyes as wide as ducks can go, while all the plants around have started to flower, regardless of whether they are supposed to be flowering right now.

‘We have an audience,’ Aziraphale says in horror, though she can feel him, deep in her soul, and knows it’s mostly for show. He then frowns and looks at Malak. ‘Three loaves, really?’

Malak sniffs, their tongue flickering in outrage. ‘See if you could do better, with your other half bound _and_ part of you tied to a bench.’

‘Oh no,’ Crowley snaps before they can get into it and Aziraphale talks himself into renegotiating with the ducks. ‘We are leaving and we’ll be bringing the bread by _tonight_ when we have gotten ourselves into on- two pieces each. If we forget, send someone to the bookshop - I know you know it - and we’ll come.’

One duck honks in agreement and the flock dispurses.

They go home.

*

Aziraphale waits a whole thirty minutes after they return to the bookshop before he opens a book. Crowley thinks it might be a record, especially when the angel is in the sort of research everything mood he is clearly in.

Of course, Aziraphale spends those thirty minutes holding Crowley, hugging them so tightly they start to lose some feeling before they tell their body to stop complaining. Malak wraps themselves around Crowley’s neck while Janus cuddles into Aziraphale’s side and it’s just…

Just perfect.

But there’s a growing tension in Aziraphale, a tightness that only increases every moment they’re together. Crowely holds on for as long as they can before they sit back on the couch and look Aziraphale in his dazed eyes.

‘You need to research,’ they say. ‘I can feel it.’

‘I need to hold you,’ he replies, squeezing Crowely tighter, ‘I have to know you’re alright.’

‘We are,’ Janus says and pushes themselves into Aziraphale’s side. ‘But you want to know more, don’t you?’

Malak hisses, unwinding themselves from Crowley’s neck as Janus steps away from Aziraphale’s side. ‘We do,’ Malak admits.

‘We’re witches now,’ Aziraphale adds. ‘But…’

‘But we had power before, unlike the humans,’ Crowley adds. ‘Whatever we are now, it’s not like the witches we’ve seen before.’

‘I could have reshaped so much,’ Aziraphale says in a quiet voice. ‘Changed so much of reality to suit me.’ Crowley raises an eyebrow and looks around Aziraphale’s TARDIS like bookshop, with its constant defiance of the laws of reality. ‘Changed it more,’ Aziraphale adds. ‘More than I could, even on my best days.’

Crowley nods slowly, as they think through everything. ‘It wasn’t just that it was more… it was that it wasn’t… anything? But it was everything?’

‘Heaven,’ Malak says softly.

‘Hell,’ Janus says at the same time with more of a bite.

‘And something that was neither, yes.’ Aziraphale sits back and finally lets go of Crowley. They try not to feel bereft. ‘I doubt there’s anything in the world that would encompass us, no written word that would describe anything like this but… but we may be able to extrapolate. To work from what happens to humanity and go from there.’

Still feeling a little bereft of Aziraphale’s contact, Crowely sits up. ‘So where do we start then?’

Something like delight creeps into Azirpahale’s face. ‘We?’

‘Oh angel, I’m not letting you research alone. Though I’ll handle the googling.’

Beaming, Azirapahle starts rattling off useful books and authors on daemonology while Crowley fires up Siri and sets her to it.

They have limits to define.

*

The next day Crowley puts their foot down and drags Aziraphale out to lunch the moment they realise the angel hasn’t eaten since well before they were taken. He grumbles a bit, looking longingly at his book, but at the reminder of food Malak is all about going so Crowley knows it is a sense of obligation to keep researching rather than a lack of desire making him deny food.

They go to a small cafe they both enjoy, one which is always super busy to cover up talking but serves some delightful meals, including an apple tart Crowley can't resist having.

Today Janus finishes it for them instead of Aziraphale, though he and Malak do have enough bites to count as having shared it. Crowley is still soaking in the look of delight on their daemon's face at the taste of food when Aziraphale clears his throat quietly.

'Hmm?'

'I've been through most of my books on witches - I don't have nearly as many as I would like - and well…'

Crowley sighs, having hit the same 'well', last night. '...It's hard right? To tell the difference between human fear and human exaggeration. To find the place where reality is.' They’d given up on the internet around midnight when the ducks arrived for their bread, certain that while human witches were powerful, they could not level an entire city with their minds.

Aziraphale grimaces, clearly upset at the fact his books are failing him. 'Yes. We could talk to human witches but the little I found does seem to agree that separation manifests differently in different people.'

Crowley frowns. 'We know multiple witches? Book girl is one…?'

'And the young man with her,' Malak says. 'Madame Tracy noticed and shared with us. Accidental for sure, his daemon never left his side.'

Crowley nods, trying to recall the other humans who'd been there apart from the kids and Book girl. It's hard but they can sort of manage a picture of a young man and his dog daemon, though the breed had been one of those rare ones. Something Norweign?

'Same problem though. Their powers manifested differently and won't give us more than an idea of how ours have changed. Will change. Should.'

Aziraphale nods. 'I think, as much as it pains me to say it, that we should turn to trial and error for our abilities.' He grabs Crowley's hand and squeezes it. 'I do believe we both have immunity to their types of execution.'

Crowley shivers at the memory of the Holy Water and Janus gives a small cry. 'We're not trusting you in Hellfire.'

Looking reluctant, Aziraphale nods. 'No point in borrowing trouble by going to Hell for some but neither should you try and defend me from it if we face it.'

Leaning in, Crowley kisses Aziraphale's cheek. ‘I can't promise you that I won’t defend you.’

‘Then accept I will try and defend you.’

‘Ussselesssss, the pair of you,’ Malak grumbles, ‘defending one another and getting in each other’s way.’

Janus shakes then pushes at Malak with their beak. ‘Not useless. Protective. Could be useful if we don't try and keep each other out of a fight.’

‘All settled then?’ Crowley asks with amusement. ‘We're to protect another but not stop the other fighting.’

The daemons nod and Aziraphale laughs. ‘Well then. If we're going to battle we need a better location for our… our headquarters.’

Crowley looks up in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

Aziraphale bits his lip then reaches down and puts Malal around his shoulders. Crowley gets Janus into their lap to match and can feel how Janus is shaking.

'Crowley I love the bookshop. Our bookshop. But it has been _mine_ alone for centuries. And your flat is lovely-'

'Liar'

'- _lovely_ , but it also has been well. Your flat. I.. i was thinking if we could start looking for somewhere we can be.. us. Our place for our side.'

'You want me to move in with you. '

'Yes,’ Malak and Aziraphale say.

‘Yes,’ Crowley and Janus reply. ‘Yes of course,’ Crowley adds, eyes wide with excitement. ‘Where will we go?’

Aziraphale takes Crowley's other hand, so they're holding hands like a couple about to marry. ‘I believe that is something we can decide for ourselves.’

And Crowley, eyes wide with delight and heart full of a warmth they never thought they'd feel again, just nods.

Around them, the restaurant plants discover that they are no longer fakes and start blooming, to the considerable surprise of the owner. This spreads through London, with flowers gracing living, dead and fake plants, springing waves of confusion, mild panic, and absolute delight, the effects of which cancel each other out.

Neither Aziraphale or Crowley notice, too wrapped in thoughts of their future together to notice the now.

*

There is a village in the South Downs, located near the Devil’s Dyke, that is small and picturesque. The kind of village you see on postcards and instagrams, that seems too perfect to be real. It has a farmer’s market every Saturday morning, rain, hail or fish - that had been a memorable Saturday and all the local hogs had eaten well that night - and a service every Sunday that acts more as a local gossip session than worship.

In this village there is a cottage. It is a large one at the top of the hill with a semi private garden. No one can quite remember how long it has been there (surely forever) but everyone knows that two men now live there, with their snake and goose daemons. One man is golden and bright, the kindest person you'll ever meet while his husband is surly and dark and, the village agrees, a complete softy with more bark than he could ever think to bite.

And no one is sure whose daemon is whose. The golden man often has the goose by his side in the village but has worn the snake on some days instead, most notably to any of the church services he slips into. The dark man usually has the white snake wrapped around him but on rare occasions - often on Saturday mornings when he roars into town to get surprises for his husband from the farmer’s market - comes with the goose.

Everyone agrees that either daemon would suit and as no one is _rude_ they don't _ask_ whose is whose.

No, they are clearly something special. Something more. The villagers are content to leave the pair to be their own little thing.

Which suits Crowley and Aziraphale and Janus and Malak just fine. They live in their little (okay _big_ but it doesn’t look it from the outside) cottage with Aziraphale’s books and Crowley’s bewildered plants and make a home. Their first home, warded for safety and yet the freest they’ve ever been as they adjust to their new reality as witches.

Safe. Together. _Free_.

Forever.

_You know what_ , Crowley thinks, watching Azirpahale and Malak try and undermine his discipline in the garden with a few kind words while Janus and Crowley aren’t looking, _I think I may have all I’ve ever wanted._

‘All we ever wanted,’ Janus adds and wanders out to ‘catch’ their loves in the act. Smiling, Crowley follows his soul to his heart, content in his existence for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Heaven has a soup kitchen because Heaven decided it needed a place humans ate and all the others were too Gluttonous for Heaven. However the only angel who actually goes there is Aziraphale, so the soup kitchen was left to his designs. It's a _very_ nice place that only resembles mortal soup kitchens in that they serve food for free.
> 
> After all, most soup kitchens on Earth do not include live music, a chandelier or silver and gold tartan tableclothes.


End file.
